*, 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


/*~  / 


i*. 


V 


POWHATAN; 


A   METRICAL    ROMANCE, 


IN  SEVEN  CANTOS. 


BY  SEBA  SMITH. 


«  He  cometh  to  you  with  a  tale,  that  holdeth  children  from  play  and  old  men  from 
the  chimney-comer." — Sir  Philip  Sidney. 


NEW-YORK: 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  CLIFF-STREET. 
1841. 


«5rt 

^1 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1841,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Southern  District  of  New- York. 


Stereotyped  by 

RICHARD  C.  VALENTINE, 
46  Gold-itre«t. 


* 


TO  THE 

YOUNG  PEOPLE  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 

IN  THK  HOPE  THAT  HE  MAY  DO  SOME  GOOD  IN  HIS  DAY  AND  GENERATION, 

BY  ADDING  SOMETHING  TO  THE  SOURCES  OF  RATIONAL 

ENJOYMENT  AND  MENTAL  CULTURE, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  RESPECTFULLY  INSCRIBED 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


JRI.5Q879 


PREFACE. 


"  POETET  is  a  mere  drug,"  say  the  publishers ;  "  bring 
us  no  more  poetry,  it  won't  sell." 

"  Poetry  is  a  terrible  bore,"  say  a  majority  of  the  dear 
public ;  "  it  is  too  high-flown ;  we  can't  understand  it." 

To  ail  this,  we  are  tempted  to  reply  in  the  language  of 
doctor  Abernethy  to  one  of  his  patients.  The  good  old 
lady,  when  the  doctor  entered  the  room,  raised  her  arm  to 
her  head,  and  drawing  her  face  into  a  very  painful  expres- 
sion, exclaimed,  "  Oh,  oh  !  O  dear,  Doctor,  it  almost  kills 
me  to  lift  my  arm  up  so ;  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

"Well,  madam,"  said  the  doctor,  gravely,  "then  you 
must  be  a  very  great  fool  to  lift  your  arm  up  so." 

Leaving  the  reader  to  make  the  application,  we  hasten 
to  deny  the  premises  assumed  by  the  publishers  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  public.  What  they  say,  is  not  true  of  poetry  ; 
it  is  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  experience  of  the  world 
in  all  ages  and  all  nations,  for  thousands  of  years.  But  it 
may  be  true,  and  is  true,  of  endless  masses  of  words  that 
are  poured  forth  from  the  press  under  the  name  of  poetry. 
But  we  do  not  believe,  that  genuine  poetry,  that  which  is 
1* 


6  PREFACE. 

worthy  of  the  name,  is  either  "a  drug,"  or  "too  high-flown" 
to  be  enjoyed  and  understood  by  the  mass  of  the  reading 
public. 

"  The  budding  twigs  spread  out  their  fan, 

To  catch  the  breezy  air ; 
And  I  must  think,  do  all  I  can, 
That  there  was  pleasure  there." 

Poetry  like  that,  will  always  find  readers  and  admirers 
among  all  classes,  whether  high  or  low,  rich  or  poor,  learn- 
ed or  unlearned.  True  poetry  is  the  unsophisticated  lan- 
guage of  nature — so  plain  and  simple,  that  he  that  runs  may 
read.  In  proof  of  this,  it  is  found,  that  among  the  writings 
of  popular  authors,  those  poems  most  marked  for  simple 
and  natural  language,  other  things  being  equal,  are  always 
the  most  popular.  There  must  be  taste  and  judgment  in 
the  selection  of  subjects,  for  many  subjects  are  in  their  na- 
ture unsuited  to  the  true  spirit  of  poetry. 

The  author  of  Powhatan  does  not  presume  to  claim  for 
his  production  the  merit  of  good  and  genuine  poetry ;  nor 
does  he  pretend  to  assign  it  a  place  in  the  classes  or  forms 
into  which  poetry  is  divided.  He  has  chosen  to  call  it  a 
metrical  romance,  as  a  title  of  less  pretension  than  that  of 
poem ;  and  he  is  perfectly  willing  that  others  should  call  it 
by  whatever  name  they  please.  Whatever  may  be  its 
faults,  they  must  rest  solely  upon  the  author.  They  can- 
not be  chargeable  to  the  subject,  for  that  is  full  of  interest, 
and  dignity,  and  poetry.  Nor  can  they  be  palliated  by  the 
plea  of  hasty  composition ;  for  he  has  had  the  work  on  his 


PREFACE.  7 

hands  at  intervals  for  several  years,  though  to  be  sure 
something  more  than  half  of  it  has  been  written  within  the 
year  past.  Of  one  thing  the  author  feels  confident;  but 
whether  it  may  be  regarded  as  adding  to,  or  detracting 
from,  the  merit  of  the  work,  he  knows  not ;  he  believes  it 
would  be  difficult  to  find  a  poem  that  embodies  more  truly 
the  spirit  of  history,  or  indeed  that  follows  out  more  faith- 
fully many  of  its  details.  Of  the  justness  of  this  remark, 
some  evidence  may  be  found  in  the  notes  attached  to  the 
work. 

Finally,  with  regard  to  its  merits,  the  test  by  which  the 
author  desires  to  be  tried,  is  the  common  taste  of  common 
readers.  If  they  shall  read  it  with  pleasure,  and  if  the  im- 
pression made  by  its  perusal  shall  induce  them  to  recur  to 
it  again  with  renewed  delight,  he  will  care  little  for  the 
rules  by  which  critics  may  judge  it,  but  will  find  satisfaction 
in  the  assurance  that  he  has  added  something  honorable  to 
the  literature  of  his  country. 
New  York,  January,  1841. 


SKETCH  OF  THE  CHARACTER  OF  POWHATAN. 

As  Powhatan  may  be  regarded  as  the  most  prominent  personage  in 
the  poem,  the  author  has  thought  proper  to  give  the  following  well- 
drawn  sketch  of  his  character  a  place  at  the  commencement  of  the 
work,  rather  than  among  the  notes  at  the  end.  It  is  extracted  from 
Burk's  "  History  of  Virginia,"  and  will  serve  to  show  that  grave  and 
sober  history  assigns  to  the  Indian  chieftain  a  rank  no  less  elevated 
and  dignified  than  is  given  him  in  the  following  poem. 

"  THE  greater  part  of  his  life  was  passed  in  what  is  gen- 
erally termed  glory  and  good  fortune.  In  the  cant  of  civ- 
ilization, he  will  doubtless  be  branded  with  the  epithets  of 
tyrant  and  barbarian.  But  his  title  to  greatness,  although 
his  opportunities  were  fewer,  is  to  the  full  as  fair  as  that  of 
Tamerlane  or  Kowli  Khan,  and  several  others,  whom  his- 
tory has  immortalized  as  conquerors ;  while  the  proofs  of 
his  tyranny  are  by  no  means  so  clear  and  unequivocal. 

"  Born  to  a  slender  patrimony,  in  the  midst  of  numerous 
tribes  more  subtle  than  the  Arabs  of  the  desert,  and  whose 
independence  spurned  even  the  shadow  of  restraint,  he  con- 
trived, by  his  valor  and  address,  to  unite  them  hi  one  firm 
and  indissoluble  union,  under  his  power  and  authority  ;  giv- 
ing his  name  to  the  new  empire  which  his  wisdom  had 
erected,  and  which  continued  to  flourish  under  his  auspices 
and  direction. 


10  SKETCH  OF  THE 

"As  a  warrior,  bold,  skilful,  and  enterprising,  he  was 
confessedly  without  rival  or  competitor ;  inspiring  with  re- 
spect or  terror  even  the  formidable  enemies  who  dared  to 
make  head  against  his  encroachments.  The  powerful  con- 
federacy of  the  Manakins  and  Manahoaeks,  and  the  more 
distant  inhabitants  of  the  lakes,  heard  the  name  of  Powhatan 
with  uneasiness  and  alarm. 

"  At  the  coming  of  the  English  he  had  reached  the  ad- 
vanced age  of  sixty  years,  and  enjoyed  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family  the  fruits  of  his  long  and  glorious  exertions.  The 
spectacle  of  men  who  came  from  beyond  the  sea,  in  floating 
and  winged  houses,  and  who  fought  with  thunder  and  light- 
nings, could  not  fail  to  strike  him  by  its  grandeur  and  nov- 
elty. The  intent  of  the  strangers  appeared,  at  first  view,  to 
be  friendly ;  and  he  received  them  with  courtesy.  But  his 
sagacious  mind  quickly  developed  the  motives,  and  foresaw 
the  consequences,  of  their  arrival.  He  looked  forward  with 
regret  to  a  renewal  of  his  labors ;  and,  at  the  age  of  sixty, 
he  resolved  to  fight  over  again  the  battles  of  his  youth.  He 
might  have  lived  in  peace.  He  was  aware  of  the  superiority 
of  his  new  enemy  in  the  machines  and  instruments  of  battle, 
as  well  as  in  their  discipline  and  experience  ;  but  these  cold 
calculations  vanished  before  his  sense  of  honor  and  inde- 
pendence. Age  could  not  chill  the  ardor  of  his  heroic 
bosom. 

"In  the  private  circle  of  his  family,  who  appears  to  greater 
advantage  than  Powhatan  ? — what  affection  for  his  brothers ! 
how  delicate  and  considerate  his  regard  for  his  children ! 
what  moderation  and  pity  does  he  not  manifest  towards 


CHARACTER  OF  POWHATAN.  11 

Captain  Smith,  when,  subdued  by  the  tears  of  Pocahontas, 
and  touched,  perhaps,  with  compassion  for  the  bravery  and 
misfortunes  of  his  captive,  he  consented  to  spare  his  life ! 

"  Powhatan  comes  before  us  without  any  of  those  mortify- 
ing and  abasing  circumstances  which,  in  the  eye  of  human 
respect,  diminish  the  lustre  of  reputation.  History  records 
no  violence  offered  to  his  person;  no  insulting  language 
used  in  his  presence.  Opechancanough  had  been  dragged 
by  the  hair,  at  the  head  of  hundreds  of  Indians ;  but  never 
had  the  majesty  of  Powhatan  been  violated  by  personal  insult. 

"In  all  disputes  and  conferences  with  the  English,  he 
never  once  forgets  that  he  is  a  monarch;  never  permits 
others  to  forget  it.  '  If  your  king,'  said  he  to  Smith,  '  has 
sent  me  presents,  I  too  am  a  king,  and  I  am  in  my  own 
land.'  No  matter  who  the  person  is  whom  the  partiality 
of  the  historian  may  think  proper  to  distinguish  as  his  hero ; 
we  never  lose  sight  of  the  manly  figure  and  venerable  ma- 
jesty of  the  Indian  hero.  He  is  always  the  principal  figure 
in  the  group ;  and  in  his  presence,  even  the  gallant  and  ad- 
venturous Smith  is  obliged  to  play  a  second  part;  and  all 
others  are  forgotten. 

"  Owing  to  that  obscurity  in  which,  unhappily,  every  thing 
relating  to  this  people  is  involved,  we  know  little  of  the  dawn 
of  Powhatan's  glory — little  of  his  meridian.  Those  particu- 
lar traits  which  would  have  enabled  us  accurately  to  esti- 
mate the  character  and  capacity  of  his  mind,  have  felt  the 
fate  of  oral  record  and  remembrance.  The  exploits  of  his 
youth  and  his  manhood  have  perished,  for  the  want  of  a  poet 
or  historian.  We  saw  him  only  for  a  short  time,  on  the  edge 


12  SKETCH,  ETC. 

of  the  horizon ;  but,  from  the  brightness  of  his  departing 
beams,  we  can  easily  think  what  he  was  in  the  blaze  of  his 
fame. 

"  If  we  view  him  as  a  statesman,  a  character  which  has 
been  thought  to  demand  a  greater  comprehension  and  variety 
of  talents,  where  shall  we  find  one  who  merited  in  a  higher 
degree  the  palm  of  distinction  and  eminence  ?  "Tis  true 
the  theatre  of  his  administration  was  neither  wide  nor  con- 
spicuous. He  is  not  set  off  by  the  splendid  machinery  of 
palaces  and  courtiers,  glittering  with  gold  and  precious 
stones;  or  the  costly  equipage  of  dress.  He  had  no  troops 
in  rich  uniform ;  he  had  no  treasury ;  he  maintained  no  am- 
bassadors at  foreign  courts.  Powhatan  must  be  viewed  as 
he  stands  in  relation  to  the  several  Indian  nations  of  Vir- 
ginia. To  judge  him  by  European  ideas  of  greatness  would 
be  the  climax  of  injustice  and  absurdity." 


PROEM. 


THERE'S  a  warrior  race  of  a  hardy  form, 

Who  are  fearless  in  peril,  and  reckless  of  storm ; 

Who  are  seen  on  the  mountains  when  wintry  winds 

blow, 

And,  in  midsummer's  blaze,  in  the  valleys  below — 
Their  home  is  the  forest,  the  earth  is  their  bed, 
And  the  theme  of  their  boast  is  the  blood  they  have 

shed; 

With  a  spirit  unbroken  by  famine  or  toil, 
They  traverse  the  rivers  and  woods  for  their  spoil ; 
With  a  soul  that  no  terrors  of  nature  appal, 
They  dance  on  the  verge  of  the  cataract's  fall ; 
They  chase  the  huge  crocodile  home  to  the  fen, 
They  rob  the  wild  bear  of  the  cubs  in  her  den, 
They  weary  the  deer  in  her  rapidest  flight, 
And  they  sleep  with  the  wolf  on  the  mountain's  height. 

Yet  the  gentle  affections  have  found  an  abode 
In  these  wild  and  dark  bosoms,  wherever  they  dwell ; 

2 


14  PROEM. 

And  nature  has  all  the  soft  passions  bestow'd 
On  her  favorite  children  of  mountain  and  dell. 
Though  they  fall  on  a  foe  with  a  tiger's  fangs, 
And  joy  and  exult  in  his  keenest  pangs, 
The  least  act  of  kindness  they  never  forget, 
And  the  sin  of  ingratitude  ne'er  stain'd  them  yet. 
They  weep  o'er  the  graves  of  their  valiant  dead, 
And  piously  reverence  the  aged  head ; 
Of  parent  and  child  feel  the  tenderest  ties, 
And  the  pure  light  of  love  glances  warm  from  their 
eyes. 

But  the  warrior  race  is  fading  away; 
The  day  of  their  prowess  and  glory  is  past ; 
They  are  scathed  like  a  grove  where  the  lightnings 

play, 

They  are  scatter'd  like  leaves  by  the  tempest  blast. 
They  must  perish  from  earth  with  the  deeds  they 

have  done ; 

Already  the  pall  of  oblivion  descends, 
Enshrouding  the  tribes  from  our  view,  one  by  one, 
And  time  o'er  the  straggling  remnants  bends, 
And  sweeps  them  away  with  a  hurried  pace, 
Still  sounding  the  knell  of  the  warrior  race. 

A  vision  is  passing  before  me  now — 
The  deeds  of  their  chieftains  come  full  on  my  sight, 


PROEM.  15 

And  maidens  of  mildness  and  beauty  bow, 

As  they  faintly  appear  in  the  dim  distant  light. 

That  vision  is  fading — now  fainter  it  seems — 

Like  a  cloud  on  the  wind,  it  recedes  from  the  view — 

And  is  there  no  power  to  rekindle  its  beams  ? 

No  pencil  to  picture  its  form  and  its  hue  ? 

O,  spirit  of  poesy,  parent  of  song, 

Thou  alone  canst  the  light  of  that  vision  prolong ; 

Then  let  it  descend  to  a  distant  age, 

Embodied  forth  on  thy  deathless  page. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


I. 

THE  monarch  rested  from  his  toils, 
Weary  of  war,  and  full  of  spoils. 
His  hatchet  slept ;  his  bow,  unstrung 
And  shaftless,  in  his  cabin  hung  ; 
His  tomahawk  was  in  the  ground, 
The  wild  war-whoop  had  ceased  to  sound, 
And  thirty  chieftains,  tall  and  proud, 
To  his  imperial  sceptre  bow*d. 
Far  in  their  mountain  lurking-place 
The  Manakins  had  heard  his  fame, l 
And  M anahocks  dared  not  come  down 
His  valleys  to  pursue  their  game  ; 
And  Susquehannah's  giant  race,  2 
Who  feared  to  meet  no  other  man, 
Would  tremble  in  their  fastnesses 
To  hear  the  name  of  Powhatan.* 

*  Powhatan.    This  name,  in  the  northern  and  middle  states, 
has  usually  been  accented  on  the  second  syllable.    But  in  Vir- 

2* 


18  POWHATAN. 

From  the  broad  James's  winding  side 
To  smooth  Potomac's  broader  tide, 
From  Chesapeake's  surf-beaten  shore 
To  where  the  mountain  torrents  roar, 
His  powerful  sway  had  been  confessed, 
And  thirty  tribes  one  monarch  bless'd.  3 

II. 

The  time-spared  oak,  that  lifts  its  head 
In  loneliness,  where  those  are  dead, 
Which  once  stood  by  it  on  the  plain, 
Soon  sees  their  places  fill'd  again — 
So  stood  the  monarch,  full  of  years, 
Amid  an  undergrowth  of  men ; 
For  since  the  sceptre  first  he  sway'd, 
Full  two  score  years  ago  and  ten, 
Two  generations  had  gone  by, 
And  twice  he'd  seen  his  people  die. 
Yet  from  his  eye  there  beam'd  a  fire, 
Resistless  as  the  warrior's  lance ; 
And  when  'twas  lit  with  vengeful  ire, 
The  boldest  wither'd  at  its  glance. 
And  still  his  step  was  quick  and  light, 


ginia  the  accent  is  thrown  on  the  first  and  last  syllables,  which 
is  undoubtedly  according  to  the  Indian  mode  of  pronunciation, 
and  therefore  the  true  one. 


CANTO    FIRST.  19 

And  still  his  arm  was  nerved  with  might, 
And  still  'twas  death  to  all,  who  dare 
Awake  the  vengeance  slumbering  there. 
But  now  with  joy  the  monarch  view'd 
His  realm  in  peace,  his  foes  subdued, 
And  calmly  turn'd  abroad  his  eyes 
O'er  the  wide  work  of  warfare  done, 
And  hoped  no  coming  cloud  would  rise 
To  shroud  in  gloom  his  setting  sun. 

III. 

Deep  in  a  sea  of  waving  wood  4 
The  monarch's  rustic  lodge  was  seen, 
Where  brightly  roll'd  the  river  down, 
And  gently  sloped  the  banks  of  green. 
No  princely  dome  that  lodge  appear'd, 
No  tall  and  shapely  columns  rear'd 
Their  finished  architraves  on  high, 
With  cornice  mounting  to  the  sky ; 
No  foreign  artist's  skilful  hand 
Had  shed  Corinthian  graces  there : 
That  simple  dwelling  had  been  plann'd 
By  workmen  under  nature's  care. 
The  sun  by  day,  or  moon  by  night, 
Had  never  sent  a  ray  of  light 
Upon  a  lovelier  spot  than  this, 
Or  seen  a  home  of  purer  bliss. 


0  POWHATAN. 

Beneath  the  tall  elms'  branching  shade 

The  eye  might  reach  a  fairy  glade, 

Where  sprightly  deer  were  often  seen, 

In  frolic  sport,  on  plats  of  green, 

From  morning's  dawn  till  noontide  heat 

Invited  to  some  cool  retreat ; 

Then  away  to  the  sheltering  grove  they  fled 

With  a  high-curved  neck  and  a  lofty  tread. 

Beside  the  open  glade  there  grew 

Green  clustering  oaks,  and  maples  tall, 

Forming  a  native  bower,  whose  view 

Was  more  enchanting  far  than  all 

The  stiff  embellishments  of  art, 

That  human  culture  could  impart 

To  garden,  grot,  or  waterfall. 

Within  that  bower  a  fountain,  gushing, 

Babbled  sweetly  all  the  day, 
And  round  it  many  a  wild-flower,  blushing, 

Drank  the  morning  dew  of  May. 

IV. 

But  one  sweet  floweret  flourished  there, 
Beneath  the  aged  monarch's  care, 
Whose  bloom  that  happy  bower  had  bless'd 
With  brighter  charms  than  all  the  rest. 
'Twas  his  loved  daughter — she  had  been 
The  comfort  of  his  widowhood 


CANTO    FIRST.  21 

For  twelve  long  years ;  through  grove  and  glen 

She  roam'd  with  him  the  pathless  wood, 

And  wheresoever  that  old  man  hied, 

Fair  Metoka*  was  ever  at  his  side. 

She  was  the  gem  of  her  father's  home, 

The  pride  and  joy  of  his  forest  cell ; 

And  if  alone  she  chanced  to  roam 

To  pluck  the  rose  and  gay  hairbell, 

The  rudest  savage  stopp'd  and  smiled, 

Whene'er  he  met  the  monarch's  child. 

V. 

Mild  was  the  air,  and  the  setting  rays 
Of  the  ruddy  sun  now  seem'd  to  blaze 
On  many  a  tree-top's  lofty  spire, 
When  May-day's  tranquil  evening  hour 
Beheld  the  daughter  and  the  sire 
Together  in  their  summer  bower. 

VI. 

*  Come  hither,  child,'  the  monarch  said, 
'  And  set  thee  down  by  me, 

'  And  I'll  tell  thee  of  thy  mother  dead, 

*  Fair  sprout  of  that  parent  tree. 

*  Metoka,  or  Metoaka,  which  was  the  original  name  of  Po- 
cahontas,  is  adopted  in  preference  to  the  latter  throughout  this 
poem,  on  account  of  its  greater  euphony. 


22  POWHATAN. 

4  Twelve  suns  ago  she  fell  asleep, 

*  And  she  never  awoke  again ; 

*  And  thou  wast  then  too  young  to  weep, 

*  Or  to  share  thy  father's  pain. 

*  But  wouldst  thou  know  thy  mother's  look, 

*  When  her  form  was  young  and  fair, 

*  Look  down  upon  the  tranquil  brook, 

*  And  thou'lt  see  her  picture  there. 

*  For  her  own  bright  locks  of  flowing  jet 

*  Are  over  thy  shoulders  hung ; 

*  In  thy  face  her  loving  eyes  are  set, 
4  And  her  music  is  on  thy  tongue. 

4  But  Okee  call'd  her  home  to  rest, 

4  And  away  her  spirit  flew, 

4  Dancing  on  sunbeams  far  to  the  west, 

*  Where  the  mountain  tops  are  blue. 

*  And  often  at  sunset  hour  she  strolls 
4  Alone  on  the  mountains  wild, 

4  And  beckons  me  home  to  the  land  of  souls, 
4  And  calls  for  her  darling  child. 

*  And  I  am  an  aged  sapless  tree, 

*  That  soon  must  fall  to  the  plain ; 

*  And  then  shall  my  spirit,  light  and  free, 
4  Rejoin  thy  mother  again. 

4  And  thou,  my  child' — But  here  a  sigh 
Had  reach'd  the  aged  chieftain's  ear ; 
He  turn'd,  and  lo,  his  daughter's  eye 


CANTO    FIRST.  23 

Was  beaming  through  a  trembling  tear, 
And  she  was  looking  in  his  face 
With  such  a  tender,  earnest  grace, 
The  monarch  clasp'd  her  to  his  side, 
And  thus  her  childish  lips  replied. 

VII. 

*  Oh,  do  not  say  thou  must  be  gone, 

*  And  leave  thy  daughter  here  alone, 

*  Like  some  poor  solitary  bird, 

*  To  live  unseen  and  mourn  unheard. 

*  Who  will  be  left  for  me  to  love  ? 

*  And  who  will  lead  me  through  the  grove  ? 

'  And  when  sweet,  fresh-blown  flowers  I  find, 
'  Around  whose  brow  shall  they  be  twined  ? 
'  And  who,  when  evening  comes  along, 
'  Will  sit  and  hear  my  evening  song, 
'  And  smile,  and  praise  the  simple  strain, 
1  And  kiss  my  cheek,  and  smile  again  ? 

*  The  sun  would  never  more  be  bright, 

'  Joyless  would  pass  the  darksome  night, 

*  The  merry  groves  and  murmuring  stream 

*  Would  all  so  sad  and  lonely  seem, 

*  That  I  could  here  no  longer  stay, 

*  And  thou  in  the  spirit-land  away.' 


24  POWHATAN. 

VIII. 

Then  Powhatan,  to  sooth  to  rest 
His  daughter's  agitated  breast, 
Bethought  to  make  some  kind  reply, 
When  sudden  toward  the  east  his  eye 
Caught  the  glimpse  of  a  warrior  form : 
Swift  as  an  eagle  wings  the  storm, 
He  sweeps  along  the  far  hill-side, 
Dimly  mid  dusky  woods  descried. 
Uprose  the  monarch  nimbly  then, 
And  sternly  sent  his  eagle  ken 
Through  opening  grove  and  o'er  the  glen, 
And  watch'd  the  form  that  now  drew  near, 
Bounding  along,  like  a  mountain  deer. 
He  marvell'd  if  the  warrior  came 
With  foeman's  brand  to  light  the  flame 
Of  ruthless  war ;  for  sure  his  speed 
Might  well  portend  a  foeman's  deed. 
But  as  he  gain'd  an  open  height, 
That  mark'd  him  clearer  to  the  sight — 

*  I  know  him  now/  the  monarch  said, 
1  By  his  robe  of  blue  and  belt  of  red ; 

*  He  bears  a  quiver  and  a  bow, 

*  His  plume  is  a  raven  wing — 5 

1  Our  brother,  Opechancanough,* 

*  This  name  is  sometimes  pronounced  by  throwing  a  strong 


CANTO    FIRST.  25 

<  Pamunky's  wily  king.' 
As  summer  breezes,  quick  and  strong, 
Hurry  a  fleecy  cloud  along, 
"We  see  the  shadow  softly  creep, 
Fast  as  the  following  eye  can  sweep, 
Darkening  blade,  and  bough,  and  leaf, 
O'er  grassy  mead  and  woody  dell ; 
So  flew  that  raven-crested  chief, 
And  reach'd  the  monarch's  cell. 
And  now  the  day  is  closing  in, 
And  one  by  one  the  stars  begin, 
Around  an  unbeclouded  sky, 
To  hang  their  glittering  lamps  on  high ; 
Chilly  and  damp  the  night  dews  fall, 
And  brightly  in  the  monarch's  hall 
The  evening  torches  glow ; 
Thither  the  royal  group  repair, 
The  monarch  sage,  the  daughter  fair, 
And  princely  Opechancanough. 
Mutely  the  monarch  eyed  his  guest, 
For  on  his  brow  there  seem'd  impress'd 

accent  on  the  fourth  syllable.  The  pronunciation  adopted  in 
this  work  throws  a  slight  accent  on  the  first,  third,  and  fifth 
syllables,  which  is  believed  to  be  more  agreeable  to  the  usage 
of  the  Indian  tribes.  In  pronouncing  long  words  they  seldom 
give  much  accent  to  any  one  syllable,  but  utter  each  syllable 
with  nearly  the  same  intonation. 

3 


26  POWHATAN. 

A  more  disturbed  and  ruffled  air 
Than  e'er  before  had  mantled  there. 
At  length  with  questions,  few  and  brief, 
He  gravely  thus  address'd  the  chief. 

IX. 

*  What  tidings,  brave  Pamunky*s  king, 

*  Dost  thou  to  our  high  presence  bring  ? 

4  What  tribe  has  dared  to  hurl  the  brand 

*  Of  rebel  war  across  our  land  ? 

*  Have  traitorous  warriors  dipp'd  in  gore 

*  The  tomahawk,  and  rashly  swore 

*  The  peace-tree's  leaves  are  struck  with  blight, 

*  And  they  will  drink  our  blood  to-night  ? 

*  Or  have  the  Manakins  conspired 

1  With  the  fierce  nations  of  the  west, 

*  By  the  vain  hope  of  conquest  fired, 

*  Our  sceptre  from  our  hands  to  wrest, 

*  And  from  their  mountain  homes  come  down 

*  To  meet  the  vengeance  of  our  frown  ? 

*  For  by  the  swiftness  of  thy  flight, 

*  And  by  the  lateness  of  the  night, 

*  And  by  thy  darken'd  brow,  'tis  clear 

*  Thou'rt  on  no  common  errand  here ; 

*  And  be  it  wo,  or  be  it  weal, 

*  Thy  message,  warrior,  now  reveal.' 


CANTO    FIRST.  27 

X. 

'  Whether  weal  or  wo  betide,' 
He  of  the  raven  plume  replied, 

*  Or  whether  war  or  death  be  near, 

*  Monarch,  I  neither  know  nor  fear. 

'  My  soul  ne'er  trembled  at  the  sight 

*  Of  foeman  yet  in  bloodiest  fight, 

*  Though  many  a  chief,  in  battle  slain, 

*  This  arm  has  stretch'd  upon  the  plain. 
'  And  in  thy  conflict's  darkest  hour, 

*  Who  rush'd  amid  the  arrowy  shower, 

*  And  met  the  foremost  of  the  foe, 

*  So  oft  as  Opechancanough  ? 

'  And  though  my  nerves  may  tremble  now, 

*  And  looks  of  terror  clothe  my  brow, 

'  Yet  I  protest,  and  may  great  Okee*  hear, 

*  These  signs,  that  in  my  looks  are  blent, 
'  Are  marks  of  wild  astonishment, 

*  But  not  the  work  of  fear. 

*  And  wouldst  thou  know  what  makes  me  pale, 

*  Monarch,  listen  to  my  tale. 

*  Okee  was  the  name  of  one  of  their  principal  gods,  a  rude 
image  of  which  was  kept  in  most  of  the  tribes. 


28  POWHATAN. 

XI. 

*  Soon  as  the  morning  sun  was  seen 

*  On  bright  Pamunky's  banks  of  green, 

*  The  silent  groves,  where  sleep  the  deer, 
4  Waked  with  our  hunters'  merry  cheer. 

i  With  echoing  whoop  and  loud  halloo 

*  We  startled  soon  a  nimble  doe ; 

*  And  forth  she  sprang  from  her  darksome  lair, 

*  And  tossing  high  her  head  in  air, 

*  With  springing  bound,  and  forward  flight, 

*  Was  soon  again  beyond  our  sight. 
'  But  still,  as  fleetly  on  she  flew, 

*  From  hill  to  hill  we  caught  a  view, 

*  Nor  lost  her  course,  till  on  the  shore 

*  Where  Chesapeake's  white  surges  roar, 

*  We  stood — and  saw  a  sight  display'd, 

'  That  filPd  us  with  amaze  ; 

*  The  deer  unhunted  sought  the  shade, 

*  And  we  were  left  to  gaze. 
'  Spirits  that  dart  athwart  the  sky, 

*  When  forked  lightnings  gleam  and  fly ; 
'  And  gods  that  thunder  in  the  air, 

*  And  cleave  the  oak  and  kill  the  bear ; 
'  And  beings  that  control  the  deep, 

*  Where  crocodiles  and  serpents  sleep ; 

'  And  powers  that  on  the  mountains  stand, 

*  With  storm  and  tempest  in  their  hand ; 


CANTO    FIRST.  29 

*  And  forms  that  ride  on  cloudy  cars, 

'  And  sail  among  the  midnight  stars ; — 

*  The  whole  dread  group  that  move  in  might, 
'  Unless  some  spell  deceived  our  sight, 

*  We  surely  saw  in  league  to-day 

*  On  the  bright  bosom  of  the  bay. 

*  Whether  for  sport,  in  social  mood, 

*  They  met  to  sail  upon  the  flood ; 

*  Or  bent  on  deeds  of  high  design, 

*  They  sought  their  forces  to  combine ; 

*  Whether  they  came  to  blast  or  bless, 

*  We  did  not  learn,  nor  could  we  guess. 

*  Their  shallop  was  a  stately  thing, 

*  And  gaily  moved  in  lofty  pride, 

*  Like  a  mountain  eagle  on  the  wing, 

*  Or  swan  upon  the  river  tide. 

*  And  three  tall  spires  the  shallop  bore, 

*  That  tower'd  above  our  forest  trees, 

*  And  each  a  blood-red  streamer  wore, 

*  That  floated  idly  on  the  breeze. 

*  And  thrice  in  awful  majesty 

*  They  sail'd  across  that  deep,  broad  bay ; 

*  And  as  they  turn'd  from  either  shore, 

*  We  heard  the  heavy  thunders  roar, 

*  And  saw  the  lightnings  flashing  wide 

*  From  out  their  mammoth  shallop's  side  ; 

*  And  then  a  cloud  of  smoky  hue 

3* 


30  POWHATAN. 

*  Around  her  waist  arose  to  view ; 
1  And  rolling  on  the  wind  away, 

*  It  floated  slowly  down  the  bay. 

'  And  while  in  ambush  near  the  beach 

*  "We  watch'd  the  course  the  shallop  took, 

*  She  came  within  an  arrow's  reach ; 

*  And  then  it  seem'd  as  though  she  shook 

*  Her  white  wings,  like  a  hovering  bird 

*  That  stoops  to  light  upon  a  spray ; 

'  And  sounds  of  voices  now  were  heard, 
'  But  motionless  the  shallop  lay. 

*  And  then  a  little  skiff  was  seen, 

'  And  some  were  paddling  toward  the  shore ; 

*  Their  form  was  human,  but  their  mein 
1  Semblance  of  higher  lineage  bore  ; 

*  And  one  might  read  upon  their  face 
'  Pale  proofs  of  an  unearthly  race. 

4  And  when  they  brought  their  skiff  to  land, 

*  They  knelt  them  down  upon  the  sand 

*  Of  that  smooth  beach ;  and  on  the  sky 

*  They  fix'd  a  thoughtful,  gazing  eye, 

1  And  long  they  look'd,  and  long  they  knelt, 
'  And  loud  they  talk'd,  as  though  there  dwelt 
'  Some  viewless  spirits  above  their  head, 

*  Who  listen'd  to  the  words  they  said. 

4  And  when  they  rose  from  bended  knee, 

*  They  stood  beneath  a  birchen  tree, 


CANTO    FIRST.  31 

*  And  tore  up  a  turf,  and  a  branch  they  broke, 
'  And  utter'd  strange  and  uncouth  names ; 

*  But  all  we  learn'd,  of  the  words  they  spoke, 

*  Was  "  England  and  King  James." 

'  Then  back  as  they  came  we  saw  them  glide 

*  O'er  the  rippling  wave  in  their  painted  skiff, 

'  And  they  clomb  up  the  mammoth  shallop's  side, 

*  That  darkened  the  wave  like  a  mountain  cliff. 

*  And  soon  she  was  moving  away  on  the  flood, 

*  Like  a  cloud  which  the  mountain  breezes  fan, 

'  And  with  wings  of  white  and  streamers  of  blood, 

*  She  bent  her  course  to  Kecoughtan.* 

*  Then  up  the  wave  that  bears  thy  name 

*  Along  by  the  winding  shore  she  swept ; 

*  And  crouching  low,  as  if  for  game, 

'  Through  thickets  watchfully  we  crept ; 
'  Till  by  that  jutting  point  of  land, 

*  Where  the  weary  waters  lingering  go, 

*  And  Paspahey'sf  tall  forests  stand, 

*  And  their  shadows  on  the  eddy  throw, 

*  We  saw  that  shallop  moor'd  and  still, 

*  And  a  throng  so  awful  lined  the  shore, 

*  Kecoughtan  was  on  the  west  side  of  Chesapeake  Bay, 
where  Hampton  now  stands.    James  River  was  called,  by  the 
natives,  Powhatan. 

t  Paspahey  was  the  place  on  James  River  where  the  English 
first  effected  a  settlement,  and  gave  it  the  name  of  Jamestown. 


32  POWHATAN. 

*  The  very  blood  in  our  veins  run  chill. 

*  No  longer  we  staid,  nor  witness'd  more, 

*  But  fled,  great  werowance,*  to  thee, 

*  To  make  this  strange  adventure  known ; 
'  For  warriors  brave,  and  subjects  free, 

'  And  courage,  and  power,  are  all  thine  own. 

*  The  thoughts  that  in  thy  bosom  flow, 

*  Monarch,  now  bring  before  the  light ; 

*  Thy  will  and  counsel  I  would  know, 

*  But  I  may  not  tarry  here  to-night, 

*  For  back  to  Pamunky  my  hunters  have  gone, 

*  And  I  must  be  there  by  the  morning's  dawn/ 

XII. 

Thus  spoke  Pamunky's  wily  king ; 
The  torch-light  high  was  flickering ; 
On  Powhatan's  stern  face  it  gleams, 
But  from  his  eye  shot  fiercer  beams, 
That  told  the  fire,  which  vigor  lit 
In  his  day  of  strength,  was  burning  yet. 
The  monarch  rose  in  musing  mood, 
And  silent  for  a  moment  stood, 
Wrapp'd  in  himself,  as  though  he  sought 
To  grasp  some  hidden,  vanish'd  thought, 
Which,  rayless,  vague,  and  undefined, 

*  King,  chief,  or  head  man  of  a  tribe. 


CANTO    FIRST.  33 

Still  seems  to  flit  before  the  mind, 

A  form  unseen — But  now  a  glow 

Of  animation  rose,  as  though 

That  vanish'd  thought  in  brightness  broke 

At  once  upon  his  view ;  and  then, 

Turning  toward  his  guest  again, 

Thus  to  the  chief  he  spoke. 

XIII. 

*  Brother,  a  mist  is  round  my  head, 

*  And  darkness  in  my  path  is  spread ; 

*  Thy  tale  is  like  the  clouds  of  night ; 

'  My  thoughts  are  stars  that  shed  no  light ; 

*  And  much  I  marvel  what  may  mean 
'  This  wondrous  vision  thou  hast  seen. 

*  That  pale-face  throng,  with  forms  like  ours, 
1  Are  not  the  band  of  secret  powers, 

'  Which  thou  hast  fancied  them  to  be ; 

*  This  would  not  solve  the  mystery, 

*  For  spirits  of  fire  and  spirits  of  flood 

*  Are  foes  that  seek  each  other's  blood. 

*  My  thoughts  are  bent  another  way ; 
'  I  hear  a  voice,  that  seems  to  say, 

4  They  are  but  men,  perchance,  who  seek, 
'  Along  the  shores  of  Chesapeake, 

*  To  plant  a  tree  whose  roots  shall  spread, 

*  Broad  and  deep  as  that  ocean  bed, 


34  POWHATAN. 

'  And  whose  tall  branches  shall  expand, 
'  Till  they  o'ershadow  all  the  land. 
'  I  hear  a  voice  that  says,  beware, 

*  Or  thou  wilt  tread  upon  a  snare  ; 

*  There  is  a  way  thou  must  not  pass, 
'  A  serpent  lieth  in  the  grass  ; 

*  There  is  a  fountain  thou  must  shun, 

*  For  streams  of  poison  from  it  run ; 

*  There  is  a  shade  thou  must  not  seek, 

*  For  round  it  plays  the  lightning  streak. 

*  I  hear  a  voice  in  whispers  low, 

*  That  speaks  of  carnage,  death,  and  wo, 
'  Of  injured  rights  and  ruthless  power, 

*  And  tempest-clouds,  which  soon  shall  lower 
4  Some  pestilence  infects  the  air ; 

*  I  hear  a  voice  that  says,  beware. 

'  Hast  thou  not  heard  our  fathers  tell 

*  What  once,  in  ages  past,  befell 

*  Our  race,  what  time  Missouri's  tide 
'  Beheld  them  sporting  by  its  side  ? 

*  While  they  in  fearless  quiet  slept, 

*  A  secret  foe  among  them  crept, 

*  And,  ere  they  dream'd  of  coming  scath, 

*  Had  wellnigh  struck  the  blow  of  death. 

*  Harmless  at  first  he  seern'd  to  be, 

*  And  weak  as  helpless  infancy ; 

*  His  face  was  bright  with  friendship's  smile, 


CANTO    FIRST.  35 

*  But  in  his  heart  was  blackest  guile  ; 

*  And  soon  to  giant  strength  he  grew, 

*  And  thunderbolts  around  him  threw, 

*  And  many  a  death  and  many  a  wound 

*  Among  our  sires  he  dealt  around, 

*  And  drove  them  from  their  peaceful  home, 
'  Through  forests  deep  and  wild  to  roam. 

*  But  o'er  his  head  a  murky  cloud 

'  Came  down  upon  him  as  a  shroud, 

*  And  vengeance  seized  upon  her  prey 

*  And  hid  him  from  the  light  of  day. 

'  The  stubborn  oak  that  stood  in  pride, 

*  And  all  the  thunderer's  wrath  defied, 

*  By  one  red  lightning  stroke  was  riven, 

*  Like  mist  before  the  tempest  driven. 
'  The  tribes  collected  in  their  might, 

'  To  glut  themselves  with  wreakful  fight, 

1  And  swift  their  darts  of  bloody  vengeance  hurl'd, 

*  And  M adoc  and  his  host  were  withered  from  the 

world.  6 

1  Some  race  of  men  like  these,  I  ween, 
'  Those  beings  are,  which  thou  hast  seen ; 

*  And  something  whispers  in  my  ear, 

*  Those  beings  must  not  linger  here. 

*  And,  chieftain,  list  now  what  I  say ; 

*  Hear  my  direction,  and  obey. 

'  When  first  to-morrow's  golden  light 


36  POWHATAN. 

'  Beams  on  the  sable  brow  of  night, 

*  What  time  the  wild-birds  wake  the  glen, 

*  Collect  thy  wisest,  bravest  men, 

'  And  with  them  straight  to  Paspahey  repair, 
1  And  learn  both  who  and  whence  these  strange  in- 
truders are. 

*  Unto  their  pale-face  leader  show  7 

*  The  pipe  of  peace  and  warlike  bow ; 

*  Nor  fail  withal  to  let  them  plainly  know, 

'  We've  calumets  for  friends,  and  arrows  for  a  foe.' 

XIV. 

Here  paused  the  sage,  and  waved  his  hand, 
The  fiat  of  his  high  command — 

*  Monarch,  thy  will  shall  be  obey'd,' 
Was  all  the  plumed  chieftain  said, 
As  round  his  brawny  limbs  he  drew  8 
His  feathery  mantle,  broad  and  blue, 
And  left  the  hall  with  lofty  mein, 
Plunged  in  the  grove,  nor  more  was  seen. 


END  OF  CANTO  FIRST. 


CANTO    SECOND. 


I. 

SOFTLY  and  light  the  moonbeams  fell 
Upon  that  forest-cinctur'd  cell, 
Whose  wicker  walls  were  mottled  brown 
Where  shadows  of  the  trees  came  down, 
And  gently  moved  and  quivered  there, 
Like  spirits  dancing  in  the  air. 
A  stout  and  trusty  guard  was  placed  9 
Around  the  lodge,  whose  hands  embraced 
The  battle-axe  or  bended  bow, 
Ready  to  meet  a  coming  foe  ; 
And  silent  as  the  stars  of  night 
They  watch'd  from  dusk  till  dawning  light. 
Hush'd  were  the  echoes  of  the  grove, 
Where  feeding  deer  in  quiet  rove ; 
The  softly  whispering  zephyr's  breath 
Came  by  with  a  stillness  next  to  death, 
And  silence  hover'd  with  noiseless  wing 
Over  the  monarch  slumbering. 
4 


38  POWHATAN. 

Slept  Powhatan  ?    Why  think  it  strange  ? 
Terror  in  him  could  work  no  change ; 
For  he  had  seen  too  much  of  life 
To  heed  the  approach  of  toil  or  strife ; 
In  perilous  vicissitude  grown  old, 
He  now  could  calmly  rest  though  thunders  round 
him  roll'd. 

II. 

But  o'er  the  monarch's  child,  in  vain, 

Sleep  sought  to  hold  her  wonted  reign. 

With  active  thought  she  ponder'd  o'er 

The  plumed  chieftain's  evening  lore, 

Till  half  it  seem'd  before  her  view 

Appear'd  the  strange  unearthly  crew ; 

And  that  wild  tale  on  her  had  wrought  such  power, 

That  she  with  sleepless  eye  had  pass'd  the  midnight 

hour. 

Forth  in  her  airy  summer  dress, 
With  footsteps  light  and  echoless, 
All-unperceived  she  left  the  cell, 
By  servant,  sire,  or  sentinel. 
In  such  divine  apparel  seem'd 
That  lovely  night,  you  would  have  deem'd 
It  had  its  bridal  vesture  on 
To  wait  and  wed  the  coming  dawn. 
Its  moonlight  robe  flow'd  rich  and  free, 


CANTO    SECOND. 

Thick  set  with  star-embroidery, 
And  round  the  earth  and  o'er  the  sky 
Hung  like  a  garb  of  Deity. 
The  pageant  of  that  glorious  night 
Might  well  be  gazed  on  with  delight, 
But  still  the  loveliest  object  there 
Was  that  lone  maiden,  young  and  fair, 
Gliding  abroad  at  such  an  hour, 
By  forest  tree  and  summer  bower. 
On  the  distant  groves  of  Paspahey 

Her  eye  was  brightly  turn'd, 
And  to  be  where  that  land  in  dimness  lay 

Her  bosom  as  warmly  burn'd. 
What  though  the  way  was  lonely  and  far  ? 

The  dread  of  the  stilly  night, 
Nor  dark  morass,  had  power  to  bar 

That  maiden's  romantic  flight ; 
And  when  from  the  east  the  azure  tide 

Of  day  came  over  the  wild, 
There  stood  alone  by  the  river  side 

The  monarch's  artless  child. 
And  she  was  gazing  in  wild  surprise 

On  a  barque  majestic  and  proud, 
Whose  masts  appeared,  to  her  wondering  eyes, 
High  towering  up  to  the  vaulty  skies, 

And  as  deep  in  the  waters  bow'd. 


40  POWHATAN. 

III. 

Not  long  she  gazed  on  those  masts  so  tall, 

And  that  ship  so  gallant  and  trim, 
For  a  hero's  form  eclipsed  them  all, 

And  her  eyes  were  fix'd  on  him. 
And  peering  forth  from  a  friendly  screen 

Of  spruce  and  darkling  fir, 
She  plainly  beheld  the  stranger's  mem, 

But  the  stranger  saw  not  her. 
With  martial  cap  and  coat  of  red, 

And  bright  sword  at  his  side, 
He  paced  the  deck  with  a  princely  tread, 

And  the  dark  woods  calmly  eyed. 
But  soon  o'er  forest,  glade,  and  stream 
Darted  the  sun's  bright  morning  beam, 
And,  glancing  through  her  sheltering  tree, 
Awoke  that  maiden's  revery. 
She  started,  for  'twas  now  the  hour 
When  Opechancanough  would  come. 
And  thrice  in  haste  she  left  the  bower 
To  trace  her  pathless  journey  home ; 
But  thrice  return'd,  she  knew  not  why, 
And,  lingering,  look'd  with  soul-lit  eye 

Upon  that  stranger  still ; 
Nor  wist  she  what  should  make  a  sigh 

Her  throbbing  bosom  fill. 
But  hark !  a  voice  is  on  the  breeze, 


CANTO     SECOND.  41 

The  raven-crested  chief  is  near, 
And,  moving  through  the  distant  trees, 
His  train  of  warriors  now  appear ; 
And  like  a  wild  and  startled  fawn, 
Lightly  that  forest  child  has  gone, 
Through  dark  morass,  and  grove,  and  glen, 
To  seek  her  father's  home  again. 

IV. 

At  dawning  Powhatan  arose 
From  calm  and  undisturb'd  repose, 
And  when  his  brief  repast  was  done 
He  summon'd  forth  his  valiant  son, 
Dark  Nantaquas,  of  manly  form, 
And  soul  with  native  courage  warm, 
So  nimble  of  foot  and  stout  of  limb, 
That  few  could  wrestle  or  run  with  him. 

*  List,  Nantaquas — hear  our  command ; 

*  Take  bow  and  hatchet  in  thy  hand, 

*  And  a  full  quiver  at  thy  back, 

*  Lest  foes  may  chance  to  cross  thy  track, 
'  And  haste  thee  to  our  chieftains  all, 

*  And  each  unto  our  council  call. 

'  Call  Chesapeakes  and  Nansamonds, 
4  And  broad  Potomac's  warlike  sons, 

*  And  rouse  the  chiefs  of  every  clan, 

*  From  Orapakes  to  Kecoughtan.' 

4* 


42  POWHATAN. 

Fleet  Nantaquas  his  sire  obey'd, 
And,  in  his  warrior  arms  array'd, 
His  quiver  over  his  shoulders  threw, 
And  away  on  the  wings  of  morning  flew. 

V. 

Now  Powhatan,  in  musing  mood, 
Abroad  upon  the  hill-side  stood ; 
Deep  thoughts  in  his  stern  bosom  burn'd, 
His  eyes  toward  Paspahey  were  turn'd, 
Watching  each  quivering  tree  and  bird, 
As  if  mysterious  foes  had  stirr'd 
His  calm  old  woods,  where  he  had  reign'd 
For  years,  despotic,  unrestrain'd, 
And  none  had  dared,  or  friend  or  foe, 
Against  his  will  to  come  or  go. 
His  left  hand  clasp'd  his  bow  new-strung, 
His  hatchet  from  his  belt  was  hung, 
Keen  shafts  his  wolf-skin  quiver  press'd, 
And  on  his  war-club  lean'd  his  breast. 
Sudden  a  form  glanced  on  his  sight, 
At  distance  where  the  warm  sun-light 
Pour'd  through  the  trees  its  mellow  ray, 
And  flowers  rejoiced  at  the  coming  day. 
And  swiftly  as  that  sun-light  went 
His  springing  bow  was  up  and  bent : 
An  arrow  leapt  into  its  place ; 


CANTO     SECOND.  43 

The  strain'd  string  almost  touch'd  his  face, 

And  every  muscle,  fix'd  and  still, 

Waited  to  do  the  monarch's  will. 

Again  that  form  broke  on  his  view, 

But  ere  the  deadly  arrow  flew, 

His  eagle  eye  had  told  him  well 

'Twas  his  loved  daughter — Nerveless  fell 

His  brawny  arm,  and  o'er  his  frame 

A  cold  a  sickly  shuddering  came, 

And  reel'd  his  brain,  and  o'er  his  sight 

Came  darkness  like  the  depths  of  night. 

He  rested  on  a  fallen  tree, 

And  soon  his  child,  on  bended  knee, 

Had  clasp'd  and  kiss'd  his  aged  hand, 

And  met  his  eye  with  look  so  bland, 

It  made  the  clouds  from  his  brow  depart, 

And  quicken'd  the  life-blood  in  his  heart. 

*  Speak,  semblance  of  thy  mother,  speak, 

*  And  tell  where  thou  hast  been ; 

*  I  saw  thee  beyond  the  old  oak  tree, 

*  On  the  farther  side  of  the  glen. 

*  This  is  no  time  for  a  child  like  thee 

*  To  wander  away  from  home  ; 

*  Thou  canst  not  tell  what  dangerous  foes 
'  Through  our  dark,  deep  forests  roam. 

*  So  soon  hast  thou  forgotten,  child, 
'  The  tale  of  yesternight  ? 


44  POWHATAN. 

*  That  shallop,  and  the  pale-face  men, 

*  Who  may  in  blood  delight  ? 

1 A  thousand  trophies  of  my  power 

*  Hang  up  in  my  council  hall, 

'  But  sooner  than  trust  thee  abroad  alone, 
'  I'd  sacrifice  them  all. 

*  Dear  Metoka,  where  hast  thou  been 

*  Through  woods  so  dark  and  wild, 

*  Beyond  the  reach  of  thy  father's  arm 
4 To  guard  his  gentle  child?' 

VI. 

She  lean'd  against  the  monarch's  knee, 
And  again  she  kiss'd  his  hand — 

*  I've  been  to  Paspahey,  to  see 

1  That  strange  mysterious  band, 

*  That  in  the  mighty  shallop  came, 

*  Loaded  with  thunder  loud, 

'  And  roll'd  it  out  upon  the  bay, 

*  As  Okee  rolls  it  from  a  cloud. 

*  And  in  the  river  I  beheld 

*  Their  shallop  dark  and  tall, 

*  And  their  werowance  so  stately  stepped, 

*  I  knew  him  from  them  all.' 

These  words  roused  up  the  monarch's  blood, 

And  made  it  quicker  flow ; 

He  rose  instinctive  from  his  seat, 


CANTO     SECOND.  45 

And  firmly  clasp'd  his  bow — 

*  Thy  spirit  came  from  mine,  my  child, 

*  As  light  comes  from  the  sun ; 

*  None  but  a  Powhatan  would  dare 

*  To  do  what  thou  hast  done. 

*  Go,  girl,  arrange  our  council  hall ; 

*  Prepare  the  fires  to  light, 

'  For  a  deep  and  solemn  council-talk 

*  Our  chiefs  must  hold  to-night/ 

VII. 

The  summer  day  glides  slowly  by ; 
Now  golden  gleams  the  western  sky, 
And  twilight  gray  each  valley  fills, 
And  softly  creeps  upon  the  hills ; 
Now  deep  and  deeper  shadows  fall, 
And  now  within  that  trophied  hall, 
Flashing  abroad  on  the  brow  of  night, 
The  monarch's  council-fire  burns  bright. 
The  grim  and  murky  spoils  of  war, 
That  hung  in  rude  disorder  there, 
Glared  out  from  pillar,  wall,  and  nook, 
And  wild  and  hideous  semblance  took. 
Some  were  bequeath'd  from  sire  to  son, 
But  Powhatan  the  most  had  won — 
Huge  tomahawks,  and  war-clubs  stout, 
And  wampum  belts,  hung  round  about, 


46  POWHATAN. 

And  mantles  of  skin,  and  robes  of  feather, 
Piled  in  promiscuous  heaps  together. 

VIII. 

Aloft  in  stern  and  regal  state, 
Upon  his  throne  the  monarch  sate ; 
His  war-club  rested  in  his  hand, 
The  ensign  of  his  high  command ; 
His  trusty  bow,  against  the  wall, 
Lean'd,  ready  at  a  moment's  call ; 
Over  his  shoulders,  lightly  flung, 
His  feathery  mantle  graceful  hung ; 
Rich  skins  beneath  his  feet  were  spread, 
And  eagle  plumes  waved  o'er  his  head. 
His  chiefs  and  warriors  soon  were  seen, 
Like  silent  spectres,  gliding  in, 
And,  ranged  in  circle  round  the  room, 
Each  dark  brow  knit  in  threatening  gloom, 
With  blade  in  belt  and  bow  in  hand, 
Like  sculptured  monuments  they  stand. 
There  waved  full  many  a  lofty  crest, 
But  a  raven-plume  o'ertopp'd  the  rest, 
For  first  and  tallest  in  the  ring, 
Like  giant,  stood  Pamunky's  king. 
No  word  in  that  still  hall  was  spoke, 
Till  Powhatan  the  silence  broke, 
And  call'd  a  guardman  to  his  side, 


CANTO    SECOND.  47 

His  faithful  Rawhunt,  true  and  tried, 

And  bade  him  the  rites  in  order  set, 

And  bring  the  lighted  calumet. 

Then  through  that  long  and  mystic  reed, 10 

Emblem  of  many  a  sacred  deed, 

Three  solemn  draughts  the  monarch  drew, 

And  the  smoke  in  three  directions  blew. 

The  first  curl'd  high  above  his  head, 

In  homage  of  that  spirit  dread 

Who  ruleth  in  the  upper  air, 

And  maketh  every  man  his  care. 

The  second  gently  sunk  to  earth, 

Where  food  and  fruits  and  flowers  have  birth, 

A  thankful  offering  to  that  power, 

Who  both  at  morn  and  evening  hour, 

Opens  his  bounteous  hand  to  bless 

With  life  and  health  and  happiness. 

The  third  abroad  on  the  air  was  blown, 

A  solemn  token  to  make  known 

Unbroken  faith  to  all  who  fain 

Would  still  be  bound  in  friendship's  chain. 

Then,  one  by  one,  that  warrior  train 

Smoked  the  long  calumet  again, 

And  gravely  pass'd  it  round  the  ring, 

Till,  last  of  all,  Pamunky's  king 

Thrice  drew  the  reed  in  princely  pride, 

Then  laid  it  silently  aside. 


48  POWHATAN. 

IX. 

To  Powhatan  now  every  chief 
Turn'd  his  dark  eye,  while  slow  and  brief, 
As  monarch  speaketh  to  a  man, 
The  council-talk  he  thus  began. 

*  Chiefs  and  warriors  !  let  your  ears 

*  Be  open  to  the  words  we  say ; 

'  The  cloud,  that  rests  upon  our  land, 

'  Portends  a  troubled  day. 
'  Chiefs  and  brothers  !  come  what  will, 

*  Keep  ye  the  chain  of  friendship  bright, 
'  And  if  the  hour  of  conflict  come, 

'  Then  hand  to  hand,  like  brothers,  fight. 

*  Chiefs  and  brothers  !  ye  have  heard 

*  The  strange  events  of  yesterday, 
'  The  mighty  shallop,  full  of  men, 

*  That  thunder'd  on  our  ocean  bay, 
'  Then  boldly  up  our  river  went, 

*  And  stopp'd  at  Paspahey ; 
'  Now  listen  while  Pamunky's  king 

*  Reveals  the  tidings  of  to-day/ 

X. 

Like  heavy  cloud,  portending  storm, 
Slow  rose  Pamunky's  giant  form ; 
And  laying  bow  and  war-club  by, 
On  Powhatan  he  turn'd  his  eye, 


CANTO    SECOND.  49 

And  while  the  chiefs  in  silence  hung 
On  every  accent  of  his  tongue, 
With  flashing  eye  and  bearing  bold 
He  thus  the  day's  adventure  told. 

*  Ere  left  the  lark  her  grassy  nest 

*  To  pour  her  song  upon  the  air, 

*  I  call'd  my  warriors  from  their  rest, 

*  And  bade  them  for  the  woods  prepare. 

*  Each  one  his  stoutest  war-club  took, 

*  And  each  his  trustiest  bow ; 

*  His  hatchet  above  his  girdle  hung, 

*  His  scalping-knife  below ; 

'  And  well  prepared  for  deadly  fight, 

*  If  foes  should  cross  our  way, 

*  Through  forests  dark  we  bent  our  course 

*  To  the  groves  of  Paspahey. 

'  And  when  we  came  to  the  river  side 

*  The  sun  was  shining  bright, 

*  And  the  arms  of  a  hundred  pale-face  men 
1  Were  gleaming  in  the  light ; 

*  And  thick  upon  the  shallop's  deck 
'  Like  forest  trees  they  stood, 

*  And  a  hundred  faces,  pale  as  death, 

*  Look'd  out  upon  the  wood. 

'  But  bravely  to  the  river's  brink 
'  I  led  my  warrior  train, 

*  And  face  to  face,  each  glance  they  sent, 

5 


50  POWHATAN. 

'  We  sent  it  back  again. 

*  Their  werowance  look'd  stern  at  me, 
'  And  I  look'd  stern  at  him, 

*  And  all  my  warriors  clasp'd  their  bows 

*  And  nerved  each  heart  and  limb ; 
'  I  raised  my  heavy  war-club  high, 

*  And  swung  it  fiercely  round, 

*  And  shook  it  toward  the  shallop's  side, 

*  Then  laid  it  on  the  ground. 

*  And  then  the  lighted  calumet 

*  I  offer'd  to  their  view, 

*  And  thrice  I  drew  the  sacred  smoke 
'  And  toward  the  shallop  blew ; 

*  And  as  the  curling  vapor  rose, 

*  Soft  as  a  spirit  prayer, 

*  I  saw  the  pale-face  leader  wave 

*  A  white  flag  in  the  air. 

*  Then  launching  out  their  painted  skiff, 

*  They  boldly  came  to  land 

*  And  spoke  us  many  a  kindly  word, 
'  And  took  us  by  the  hand, 

*  Presenting  rich  and  shining  gifts, 

*  Of  copper,  brass,  and  beads, 

'  To  show  that  they  were  men  like  us, 

*  And  prone  to  generous  deeds. 

'  We  held  a  long  and  friendly  talk, 
'  Inquiring  whence  they  came, 


CANTO     SECOND.  51 

*  And  who  the  leader  of  their  band, 

*  And  what  their  country's  name ; 

*  And  how  their  mighty  shallop  moved 

*  Across  the  boundless  sea, 

*  And  why  they  touch'd  our  great  king's  land 
'  Without  his  liberty. 

'  They  say  that  far  beyond  the  sea 

*  A  pleasant  land  appears, 

'  And  there  their  sires  have  made  their  graves 
'  For  many  a  hundred  years ; 

*  And  there  the  men  are  numerous 
'  As  leaves  upon  the  trees, 

'  And  a  thousand  mighty  shallops  there 
6  Are  moved  by  every  breeze. 

*  They  call  this  bright  land  England, 
'  'Tis  surrounded  by  the  sea ; 

'  King  James  they  call  their  werowance, 

*  And  a  mighty  chief  is  he  ; 

*  And  brave  Sir  John  is  the  name  they  give 

*  To  the  leader  of  this  band, 

*  Who  only  ask  to  rest  awhile 
'  On  Powhatan's  wide  land, 

*  To  trade  with  us  for  skins  and  furs, 

*  And  corn  to  make  them  bread, 

1  And  a  space  to  build  their  cabins, 

*  And  a  spot  to  bury  their  dead. 

*  If  Powhatan  will  grant  them  this, 


52  POWHATAN. 

*  We  have  no  cause  to  fear, 

*  But  loads  of  shining  treasures 

*  Shall  enrich  us  every  year.' 

XL 

Here  paused  Pamunky's  giant  king, 
And  slowly  left  the  council  ring, 
And  cross'd  the  hall  to  the  outer  door, 
And  soon  returning,  gravely  bore 
A  loaded  quiver — 'twas  not  filPd 
With  barbed  shafts  that  blood  had  spill'd, 
But  gorgeous  toys  of  English  art 
To  captivate  the  savage  heart. 
While  Powhatan  with  searching  eyes 
Survey'd  the  strange  and  glittering  prize, 
The  chiefs  and  warriors  gather  near, 
And  wait  their  sovereign's  voice  to  hear, 
And  gazing  eagerly,  meanwhile, 
Pour  their  whole  soul  upon  the  pile. 
At  length  the  monarch  waved  his  hand, 
The  warriors  backward  farther  stand, 
And  turn  their  ready  ear  and  eye 
To  catch  the  words  of  his  reply. 

XII. 

*  Chiefs  and  warriors !  still  to  me 

*  Our  troubled  sky  looks  dark ; 


CANTO     SECOND.  53 

*  How  often  a  wasting  fire  has  raged, 

*  That  sprung  from  a  single  spark ! 

*  This  English  tree,  that  shows  so  fair, 
'  Must  not  in  my  realm  take  root, 

*  Nor  till  I  better  know  its  stock, 
'  Will  I  partake  its  fruit. 

'  These  strangers  come  in  friendly  guise, 

'  And  may  for  a  time  prove  true, 

'  But  the  day  we  give  them  a  footing  here 

*  I  fear  we  long  shall  rue. 

*  Remember  Madoc,  and  beware ; 

*  Guard  well  our  council-fires, 

*  Lest  we  be  doom'd  to  meet  the  fate 
«  That  once  befell  our  sires.' 

XIII. 

The  listening  throng,  with  awe  profound, 
Of  every  word  drank  in  the  sound ; 
The  voice  of  Powhatan  was  law ; 
But  in  that  glittering  pile  they  saw 
A  charm  that  had  a  magic  power 
They  never  felt  before  that  hour. 
The  monarch  saw  their  kindling  fire, 
And  yielded  to  their  strong  desire, 
And  when  again  they  form'd  the  ring, 
He  gravely  bade  Pamunky's  king 
Dispense  the  gifts,  and  see  with  care 
5* 


54  POWHATAN. 

That  each  received  his  proper  share. 

The  chiefs,  in  dazzling  toys  arrayM, 

Each  other  with  delight  surveyed, 

And  turn'd  their  trinkets  in  the  light, 

And  danced  for  joy  at  the  very  sight. 

The  war-cloud  from  their  brows  was  chased, 

And  the  pale-face  foes  had  been  embraced 

As  friends  and  brothers,  had  they  been 

But  in  that  hall  of  council  then. 

But  Powhatan's  dark  eye  of  flame 

Their  ecstacy  began  to  tame, 

And  when  again  his  voice  was  heard 

No  word  was  spoke,  no  foot  was  stirr'd, 

While  he  made  known  his  sovereign  will, 

And  bade  them  every  word  fulfil. 

He  charged  them  all  to  sleep  at  night 

On  tomahawk  and  bow, 

And  to  watch  by  day  with  eagle  eye 

The  footsteps  of  the  foe  ; 

To  keep  their  arrows  pointed  well, 

Their  bow-strings  strong  and  sure, 

And  see  that  among  them  friendship's  chain 

Was  ever  bright  and  pure : 

And  then  with  royal  majesty 

His  mantle  around  him  threw, 

And  cross'd  the  hall  with  stately  step, 

And  silently  withdrew. 


CANTO     SECOND.  55 

XIV. 

The  warrior  train  soon  sunk  to  rest 

On  deer-skins  spread  around ; 

Each  sleeper's  bow  was  in  his  hand, 

But  his  sleep  was  deep  and  sound. 

And  now  along  the  eastern  sky 

The  day  begins  to  dawn ; 

Now  twilight  breaks  upon  the  hills, 

Now  on  the  dewy  lawn ; 

And  now  across  the  brightening  groves 

The  sun  has  pour'd  his  ray, 

And  now  those  warrior  chiefs  are  up, 

And  each  is  on  his  way, 

Through  rugged  woods,  by  the  winding  stream, 

And  across  the  tangled  moor, 

Each  threading  alone  the  track  that  leads 

To  his  own  cabin  door. 


END  OF  CANTO   SECOND. 


CANTO  THIRD 


I. 

OF  all  the  knights  of  England, 

That  ever  in  armor  shone, 

The  boldest  and  the  truest  heart 

Was  that  of  brave  Sir  John.  M 

He  had  pass'd  through  perils  on  the  land, 

And  perils  on  the  sea, 

And  oftentimes  confronted  death 

In  Gaul  and  Germany ; 

And  many  a  Transylvanian 

Could  point  to  the  spot  and  show 

Where  the  boldest  of  the  Turkish  knights 

Were  by  his  hand  laid  low. 

And  when  confined  in  dungeons, 

Or  driven  as  a  slave, 

The  rescue  that  his  own  arm  brought, 

Proved  well  Sir  John  was  brave. 

But  now  he  was  a  pioneer 

In  a  new  world's  solitude  ; 


58  POWHATAN. 

The  first  to  tread  his  pathless  way 

Where  frown'd  the  wild  old  wood ; 

And  wilder  still,  the  savage  tribes 

Like  fiends  look'd  fierce  and  grim, 

But  they  stirr'd  not  the  blood  of  brave  Sir  John, 

For  nothing  daunted  him. 

To  plant  a  British  colony 

He  had  cross'd  the  wide,  wide  sea, 

And  found  thy  future  heritage, 

O  sacred  liberty ! 

Now,  infant  Jamestown,  smiled  the  morn, 

That  should  behold  thy  christening ; 

That  gallant  band  have  lined  thy  shores, 

And  named  thee  after  England's  king  ; 

And  well  might  English  hearts  beat  high 

When  first  they  breath'd  thy  virgin  air, 

For  never  to  them  seem'd  sky  so  bright, 

Nor  ever  a  land  so  fair.  13 

Young  hope  was  hovering  o'er  thy  groves 

With  her  banner  wide  unfurl'd, 

And  on  it  a  mighty  empire  shone, 

The  glory  of  the  world. 

And  fancy  saw  the  wilderness 

Like  magic  melt  away, 

And  tender  blossoms  of  the  earth 

Spring  to  the  light  of  day ; 

And  streams,  that  through  the  solemn  wood 


CANTO    THIRD.  59 

Their  ancient  courses  run, 

Felt  the  fresh  breath  of  mountain  airs, 

And  brighten'd  in  the  sun ; 

And  far  along  the  ocean  shore 

The  sails  of  commerce  flew, 

And  up  a  thousand  shelter'd  bays 

Bright  cities  rose  to  view ; 

And  all  the  wide-spread  continent, 

That  slept  in  dark  repose, 

Awoke  to  life  and  loveliness, 

And  blossom'd  as  the  rose. 

II. 

Now  crack'd  the  woodman's  axe  full  loud, 

And  fast  the  sturdy  forest  bow*d : 

Tall  trees,  that  waved  like  fields  of  grain, 

Came  crackling,  crashing  to  the  plain ; 

Their  green  leaves  faded  in  the  sun, 

And  flashing  fires  across  them  run ; 

And  openings  spread,  and  fields  were  cleared, 

And  rustic  huts  and  cabins  reared. 

A  picket  fort  by  the  river  side 

The  battle-axe  and  bow  defied ; 

And  the  mingled  hum  of  the  busy  throng 

Echo'd  the  hills  and  woods  along, 

And  joyous  shoutings,  wild  and  free, 

Rose  from  the  infant  colony. 


60  POWHATAN. 

III. 

But  Jamestown  saw  a  darker  day, 

When  months  of  toil  had  pass'd  away, 

For  wailings  sounded  through  the  air, 

And  sorrow  made  her  dwelling  there. 

The  summer  sun,  now  riding  high, 

Pour'd  down  the  rays  of  hot  July ; 

The  woodman  scarce  his  axe  could  wield, 

Fainted  the  laborers  in  the  field, 

And  pale  disease  began  to  spread, 14 

And  scowling  famine  rear'd  her  head, 

And  many  an  exile  droop'd  and  died 

Along  the  lonely  river  side, 

Where  wearily  he  went  to  roam, 

And  weep  unseen  for  his  English  home. 

Great  Powhatan  had  been  obey'd — 

No  Indian  now  would  come  to  trade  ; 

But  hovering  round  the  settlement 

With  bow  in  hand  and  ready  bent, 

And  peering  out  from  his  covert  wood 

On  the  fields  where  the  English  cabins  stood, 

Exulting  saw  pale-faces  fade, 

And  often  in  the  graveyard  laid. 

IV. 

Why  perish  thus  the  exiled  band, 
Where  plenty  teemeth  in  the  land  ? 


CANTO    THIRD.  61 

For  one  abides  among  them  there 
With  hand  to  do  and  heart  to  dare, 
And  in  his  eye  and  on  his  brow 
Are  deeds  of  daring  written  now, 
That  to  the  fainting  band  shall  be 
Warrant  for  their  high  destiny. 

V 

A  gallant  barge  is  on  the  tide, 
And  stoutly  twelve  good  oars  are  plied, 
Sir  John  the  guiding  helm  commands, 
His  loaded  gun  beside  him  stands, 
His  broadsword  glistens  on  his  thigh, 
The  woods  are  pierced  by  his  beaming  eye, 
As  down  by  the  river  shore  they  sweep, 
Where  the  shadows  of  the  forest  sleep, 
Till  their  weary  oars  they  rest  awhile 
On  the  fragrant  banks  of  Cedar  Isle. 
Not  long  they  rest,  but  onward  soon, 
Beneath  the  fervid  glow  of  noon, 
In  the  glassy  flood  their  oars  they  bend, 
And  the  vessel  forward  swiftly  send, 
Till  nearing  now  they  clearly  scan 
The  groves  and  beach  of  Kecoughtan. 
As  nearer  to  the  shore  they  drew, 
A  warrior  train  appeared  in  view, 
And  each  a  bow  and  war-club  bore, 
6 


62  POWHATAN. 

And  now  they  reach  the  winding  shore, 
And  stand  like  statues,  mute  and  still, 
Waiting  to  learn  the  bargemen's  will. 
Like  rider  reining  in  his  steed, 
The  oarsmen  slacken  now  their  speed, 
And  slowly  floats  the  barge  along 
Close  to  that  wild  and  warlike  throng, 
And  as  it  grates  upon  the  sand 
Each  rower's  gun  is  in  his  hand. 

VI. 

Sir  John  in  friendly  accents  spoke, 

And  ask'd  their  king  to  see ; 

They  pointed  to  a  shelter'd  lodge 

Beneath  a  giant  tree  ; 

And  when  away  where  the  old  oak  grew 

They  moved  with  haughty  strides, 

Sir  John  and  his  little  band  march'd  up 

And  follow'd  their  grim  guides. 

And  here  a  village  rose  in  sight, 

Where  the  woods  look'd  dark  and  wild, 

But  silence  reign'd  in  every  lodge, 

Nor  saw  they  man  or  child. 

Then  spoke  Sir  John  to  his  guides  again, 

And  ask'd  their  chief  to  see. 

They  answer'd  not,  but  away  to  the  woods 

They  pointed  silently ; 


CANTO     THIRD.  63 

And  into  the  woods  with  quickened  step 

They  silently  withdrew, 

And  in  their  village  left  Sir  John 

Alone  with  his  vessel's  crew. 

But  soon  from  the  forest  came  again 

Dark  warriors  with  their  bows, 

And  painted  men  on  every  side 

From  brake  and  bush  arose ; 

And  a  warlike  throng  came  up  the  path, 

That  led  from  the  river  shore, 

And,  moving  quick,  with  hideous  shouts, 

Their  sacred  Okee  bore — 

Great  Okee,  whose  mysterious  power 

Is  in  the  earth  and  air, 

In  fire  and  flood  and  stormy  winds, 

And  worketh  every  where. 

Great  Okee,  dress'd  in  painted  robes, 

And  shining  chains  and  beads, 

Who  in  the  silent  night  performs 

Unutterable  deeds, 

And  safely  through  the  darkest  hour 

His  faithful  people  leads — 

Great  Okee  cometh  in  the  van 

"With  war-plume  on  his  head ; 

His  brow  is  striped  with  black  and  white, 

His  cheeks  are  gory  red  ; 

And  to  the  pale  mysterious  throng 


64  POWHATAN. 

They  now  are  pressing  near, 

But  Okee  cometh  in  the  van, 

Why  should  his  people  fear  ? 

A  sudden  war-whoop,  wild  and  fierce, 

Rings  upward  to  the  sky, 

And  a  hundred  warriors  draw  their  bows, 

And  a  hundred  arrows  fly. 

But  answering  muskets  quick  give  back 

To  the  woods  a  roaring  sound ; 

Each  bowman  flies,  and  Okee  falls 

Alone  upon  the  ground. 

Sir  John  the  painted  idol  took, 15 

And  bore  it  to  the  shore ; 

And  soon  a  suppliant  priest  came  down 

Its  ransom  to  implore. 

VII. 

The  barge  is  on  the  tide  again, 

And  rapidly  it  flies, 

For  long  its  coming  has  been  watch'd 

By  anxious  waiting  eyes ; 

And  now  those  eyes  are  brightening, 

And  hearts  are  beating  light, 

And  hope's  dim  fires  are  lit  anew, 

For  plenty  greets  their  sight. 


CANTOTHIRD.  65 

VIII. 

The  monarch  was  feasting  in  royal  state, 
And  many  brave  chiefs  at  the  banquet  sate : 
His  hunters  had  brought  in  their  choicest  store, 
His  fishers  came  loaded  from  Chesapeake's  shore ; 
His  menials  hasten  a  feast  to  prepare 
From  the  mingled  spoils  of  earth,  ocean,  and  air, 
And  a  merry  hum  circled  round  the  board, 
That  so  simply  was  spread  and  so  richly  was  stored. 
Fair  Metoka  sat  at  the  monarch's  right  hand, 
The  waiters  stood  watchful  to  do  his  command, 16 
And  while  on  his  left  his  younger  child, 
The  gay  Matachanna,  look'd  on  him  and  smiled, 
And  amid  the  guests,  that  graced  his  hall, 
His  own  valiant  son  was  the  pride  of  all, 
The  patriarch  monarch  gave  thanks  from  his  heart, 
That  the  Spirit  such  blessings  to  him  did  impart. 
But  a  messenger  comes  from  the  spying  scout, 
Which  Powhatan's  caution  kept  constantly  out, 
To  watch  every  movement  the  pale-faces  made, 
And  see  that  his  people  went  not  there  to  trade. 
'What  tidings  from  Jamestown?'    the  monarch  in- 
quires ; 

*  Do  the  pale-faces  thrive  by  their  council-fires  ? 

*  Are  their  hearts  as  light  as  the  wild-bird's  song  ? 

*  Do  they  walk  like  a  people  who  feel  they  are  strong? 

*  Do  our  tribes  still  obey  our  imperial  command  ?' 

6* 


66  POWHATAN. 

'  Or  has  food  been  bestow'd  by  a  traitor's  hand  ?' 
— '  The  tree  of  the  pale-face  is  sapless  and  dried,' 
The  messenger  spy  to  the  monarch  replied ; 
4  Its  branches  are  wither'd,  and  sear'd  is  its  leaf, 
'  And  the  reign  of  the  pale-face  is  harmless  and  brief. 

*  No  hand  brings  them  food,  their  own  fountain  is  dry ; 

*  A  blight  is  upon  them,  they  fade  and  they  die, 
'  And  soon  Powhatan  will  be  rid  of  his  foe, 

*  Without  wielding  the  war-club  or  drawing  the  bow/ 
When  the  tale  of  the  colonists'  woes  was  done, 

A  smile  sat  on  every  brow  save  one : 

A  murmur  of  joy  spread  the  hall  throughout, 

The  warriors  gave  a  triumphant  shout ; 

But  while  other  hearts  with  delight  beat  high, 

Fair  Metoka's  bosom  still  heaved  with  a  sigh. 

IX. 

In  the  midst  of  that  shouting  and  joyous  uproar 

A  Kecoughtan  warrior  rush'd  in  at  the  door ; 

His  visage  was  haggard,  and  flying  his  hair, 

From  his  restless  eye  shot  a  fiery  glare, 

His  breathing  was  quick,  and  his  mantle  was  torn, 

His  tough  skin  moccasins  muddy  and  worn, 

And  the  only  weapon  he  wielded  or  wore 

Was  a  war-club  stout,  which  he  dash'd  on  the  floor. 

Every  sound  in  that  hall  in  a  moment  was  hush'd, 

And  the  semblance  of  joy  from  each  visage  was  brushM. 


CANTO     THIRD.  67 

Not  a  word  nor  a  whisper  escaped  from  the  crowd, 
Till  Powhatan  order'd  that  warrior  aloud, 
His  message,  whate'er  it  might  be,  to  make  known, 
And  declare  why  he  came  in  such  haste  and  alone. 

*  I  come,'  said  the  warrior, '  from  Kecoughtan's  king, 
1  And  appalling  and  sad  are  the  tidings  I  bring : 

*  A  cloud  full  of  blackness  is  over  us  spread, 

'  And  the  thick  bolts  of  heaven  leap  awful  and  red ; 
1  Our  god  is  dishonored,  and  soon  will  his  ire 
'  Sweep  the  realm  of  the  monarch  with  thunder  and 
fire, 

*  Unless  the  foul  insult  be  wash'd  from  the  land 

*  By  the  hateful  blood  of  the  pale-face  band. 

'  Sir  John  and  his  warriors  have  been  to  our  shore, 

*  And  their  coming  we  long  shall  have  cause  to  deplore ; 

*  Our  children  no  longer  can  quietly  sleep, 

'  The  wounds  of  our  people  are  bloody  and  deep ; 

*  With  smoke  and  with  fire,  and  a  thundering  sound, 
'  Great  Okee  was  hurPd  like  a  chief  to  the  ground, 

'  And  dragg*d  like  a  captive,  and  borne  from  the  plain, 

*  And  bartered  and  sold  like  a  deer  that  is  slain/ 

X. 

The  messenger  ceased,  his  voice  was  still ; 
But  from  that  hall  a  war-cry  shrill 
Roll'd  over  river,  grove,  and  hill, 
So  loud,  so  sharp,  so  piercing  clear, 


PO  WHATAN. 

For  miles  around  the  startled  deer 

Raised  high  their  heads  and  snuff'd  the  breeze, 

Gazed  through  the  distant  opening  trees, 

And  arch'd  their  necks,  and  raised  their  feet, 

Then  clear'd  the  ground  with  step  so  fleet, 

That  soon  the  dark  and  silent  glen 

Secured  them  from  pursuit  of  men. 

Grim  warriors  smote  their  breasts,  and  cried, 

'  Vengeance  shall  humble  pale-face  pride ; 

*  Away,  away,  to  Jamestown's  shore, 

*  Our  scalping-knives  all  thirst  for  gore.' 
Stout  Nantaquas  with  furious  look 
Aloft  his  knotted  war-club  shook ; 

His  bosom  panted  for  the  strife 

Of  war-club,  battle-axe,  or  knife. 

Pamunky's  iron  visage  glow'd 

With  passion's  fire,  as  round  he  trode, 

And  cross'd  the  hall  from  side  to  side, 

And  shook  it  with  his  giant  stride. 

Raged  and  foam'd  Nemattanow, 

Rattled  his  quiver  and  strain'd  his  bow, 

And  vow'd  no  sleep  his  eyes  should  know, 

Till  he  had  tasted  English  blood, 

And  avenged  the  insult  to  his  god. 

But  Powhatan  sat  like  a  rock, 

That  moves  not  mid  the  tempest  shock ; 

And  while  he  watch'd  his  people's  rage, 


CANTO     THIRD. 

Which  he  alone  had  power  to  assuage, 
Passions  that  his  own  visage  wrought 
Show'd  equal  fire,  but  more  of  thought. 
Sternly  the  monarch  look'd  around, 
And  waved  his  hand :  hush'd  was  each  sound  ; 
The  warriors  bent  a  listening  ear 
Their  sovereign's  high  behest  to  hear, 
While  with  rebuke  and  counsel  bold 
He  soon  their  fiery  mood  controlled. 

XI. 

*  Chiefs  and  warriors  !  why  so  high 

*  Are  raised  the  shout  and  battle-cry  ? 

*  Why  meet  this  strange  mysterious  foe, 
'  Before  his  power  and  arms  ye  know  ? 

'  In  darkness  would  ye  rush  to  fight, 

*  Or  wait  till  ye  can  see  the  light  ? 

'  Why  would  ye  grapple  in  his  den 

'  The  fierce  and  strong-arm'd  panther,  when, 

4  By  waiting  patiently  awhile, 

*  He'll  surely  fall  within  your  toil  ? 

*  Calm  your  fierce  rage,  let  reason  show 
'  The  way,  the  hour,  to  meet  the  foe. 

*  Great  Okee's  wrongs  must  be  repaid, 
1  But  be  the  vengeful  blow  delayed. 

4  Meantime  let  scouts  through  grove  and  glen 

*  Watch  every  step  of  the  pale-face  men ; 


70  P  O  W  H  A  T  A  N . 

*  Creep  cautiously  through  bush  and  brake, 

*  Beside  their  path,  like  noiseless  snake, 

'  And  watch  till  the  certain  moment  come, 
'  Then  strike  the  death-blow  deep  and  home.' 

XII. 

The  feast  was  o'er,  the  guests  were  gone, 
Soon  came  the  tranquil  evening  on, 
The  bright  moon  rose  above  the  trees, 
Soft  blew  the  cooling  summer  breeze, 
And  forth  to  enjoy  the  tranquil  hour 
The  sisters  sought  their  greenwood  bower. 
Sweet  wild-flowers  grew  around  their  seat, 
A  fountain  sparkled  at  their  feet, 
On  whose  bright  bosom  trembling  lay 
The  dark  tree-top  and  moon's  pale  ray. 
Young  Matachanna's  eye  shone  bright 
With  joy  at  all  this  lovely  sight, 
But  when  on  Metoka's  sweet  face 
The  moonbeam  found  a  resting-place, 
It  met  a  look  of  sadness  there, 
That  told  her  heart  was  press'd  with  care. 

*  Dear  Metoka,'  her  sister  said, 
'  A  tear  is  in  your  eye  ; 

*  Why  are  you  sad  when  I  am  glad  ? 

*  Dear  sister,  tell  me  why. 

'  And  when  I  smile  and  kiss  your  cheek, 


CANTOTHIRD.  71 

'  You  answer  with  a  sigh  ; 

'  There  is  a  trembling  in  your  voice  ; 

'•  Dear  sister,  tell  me  why.' 

XIII. 

'  O,  M atachanna,  o'er  my  life 
'  A  dark  cloud  spreads  its  shade, 
1  And  willingly  would  Metoka 

*  Be  in  the  green  earth  laid. 

'  For  then  to  that  fair  land  where  dwells 
'  My  spirit-mother,  I  should  go : 

*  But  here  abides  no  joy  for  me — 

*  I  cannot  love  Nemattanow. 

*  And  though  rare  presents  he  has  brought 

*  To  win  me  for  his  bride, 

*  And  though  he  talks  me  very  fair 

*  When  sitting  by  my  side, 

*  And  though  our  father  likes  him  well, 
4  And  says  that  I  must  wed, 

*  I  cannot  love  Nemattanow, 
'  I  rather  would  be  dead. 

*  They  say  that  none  among  our  tribes 
'  Can  draw  so  true  a  bow, 

*  And  none  brings  home  so  many  scalps 
'  As  does  Nemattanow  ; 

*  And  when  the  hunters'  spoils  are  shared, 
'  His  is  the  largest  part ; 


72  POWHATAN. 

*  But  I  cannot  love  Nemattanow, 

*  He  has  a  cruel  heart. 

*  I  love  to  hear  the  wild-bird  sing 

*  Unharm'd  in  the  leafy  tree, 

*  I  love  to  see  the  gentle  deer 

*  Through  the  forest  running  free  ; 

*  But  'tis  Nemattanow's  delight 

*  To  slay  them  with  his  dart : 

*  I  cannot  love  Nemattanow, 

*  He  has  a  cruel  heart. 

*  He  cares  not  for  the  sweetest  flowers 

*  That  grow  beside  the  spring, 

*  He  never  saves  a  captive's  life, 

*  But  a  scalp  will  always  bring : 

'  How  could  I  live  with  such  a  man 

*  In  his  cabin  away  alone  ? 

*  His  heart  beats  not  with  tenderness, 

*  'Tis  hard  as  any  stone.' 

XIV. 

*  O,  sister,  do  not  grieve  thee  so,' 
Young  Matachanna  said, 

*  Our  sire  will  never  compel  thee,  dear, 

*  Against  thy  will  to  wed. 

*  He  is  not  cruel,  who  else  may  be  ; 

*  His  love  we  oft  have  tried ; 

*  And  what  we  both  have  ask'd  of  him 


CANTO    THIRD.  73 

'  He  never  yet  denied. 

'  I'll  put  my  arms  about  his  neck 

'  And  tell  him  of  sister's  wo, 

'  And  sure  he'll  never  compel  thee,  love, 

*  To  wed  Nemattanow.' 

XV. 

Now  in  the  monarch's  quiet  lodge 
Sleep  comes  its  balm  to  bring, 
And  o'er  the  young  and  innocent 
Spreads  out  its  angel  wing, 
And  fans  the  trembling  tear  away 
From  the  closed  lids  at  rest, 
And  steeps  in  soft  forgetfulness 
The  day-dreams  of  the  breast. 

XVI. 

Where  rests  Nemattanow  the  while  ? 
Is  sleep  to  him  as  kind  ? 
And  has  it  calm'd  the  passion-flame, 
That  preys  upon  his  mind  ? 
On  his  deer-skin  soft,  full  six  miles  off, 
He  has  pillow'd  his  restless  brain, 
And  has  turn'd  himself  from  side  to  side, 
And  tried  to  sleep  in  vain ; 
For  over  his  deep  and  burning  thoughts 
His  will  has  no  control ; 
7 


74  POWHATAN. 

He  only  thinks  of  Metoka, 

Whose  beauty  has  fired  his  soul. 

Hour  after  hour  he  watch'd  the  moon 

Steal  over  his  cabin  floor, 

And  the  more  he  look'd  upon  its  light, 

He  thought  of  her  the  more  ; 

And  if  his  fancy  stray'd  abroad 

In  the  chase  o'er  plain  and  hill, 

Or  wander'd  by  the  moon-lit  stream, 

Her  image  met  him  still. 

He  rose  and  left  his  sleepless  couch, 

And  into  the  woods  has  gone ; 

He  crosses  meadow,  grove,  and  glen, 

And  still  he  wanders  on ; 

And  when  on  Metoka's  abode 

First  glanced  the  morning  beam, 

Nemattanow  was  in  the  bower 

Beside  the  fountain  stream. 

And  round  that  bower  and  through  the  grove 

He  linger'd  all  day  long, 

To  catch  a  glimpse  of  Metoka, 

Or  listen  to  her  song ; 

And  when  her  form  glanced  on  his  sight, 

Or  her  voice  through  the  air  rung  clear, 

It  sent  a  sun-light  to  his  heart, 

And  a  joy  upon  his  ear. 

But  oh,  how  soon  that  sun-light  fled, 


CANTO    THIRD.  75 

How  quick  that  thrill  of  joy  was  dead, 
When  recollection  came  again 
And  whirl'd  the  thought  across  his  brain, 
That  since  he  brought  with  anxious  care 
His  choicest  presents  to  the  fair, 
Four  suns  had  risen  and  four  had  set, 
But  his  gifts  were  not  accepted  yet ! 

XVII. 

'Twas  now  the  early  twilight  hour, 
That  kindly  comes  with  soothing  power 
To  calm  the  day's  tumultuous  strife, 
And  smooth  the  stormy  waves  of  life. 
Nemattanow,  with  thoughtful  eye 
Fix'd  on  the  changeful  evening  sky, 
Lean'd  him  against  an  aged  tree, 
Whose  top  for  many  a  century 
Had  bathed  in  the  earliest  beams  of  day 
And  felt  the  sun's  last  setting  ray. 
Out  on  a  gentle  hill-side  stood 
This  aged  monarch  of  the  wood, 
Whence  Powhatan's  gray  lodge  was  seen, 
His  fields,  and  groves,  and  valleys  green ; 
And  the  younger  trees  on  the  sloping  brow 
Around  this  old  trunk  seem'd  to  bow, 
As  if  it  had  a  right  to  be 
The  ruler  of  their  destiny. 


76  POWHATAN. 

The  monarch  loved  this  relic  old 

Of  other  days ;  perhaps  the  hold 

It  had  upon  his  heart  arose 

From  the  charm  similitude  bestows, 

For  the  scenes  of  life  around  it  thrown 

Seem'd  but  the  shadowing  of  his  own. 

XVIII. 

Now  walking  his  accustomed  round 

At  closing  of  the  day, 

Old  Powhatan  the  hill-side  clomb, 

And  look'd  toward  Paspahey, 

Where  the  English  band  had  marr'd  his  groves 

And  made  his  forest  bow, 

And  bitter  was  the  curse  he  breathed, 

And  dark  his  frowning  brow. 

And  here  beside  his  old  loved  tree 

Reclined  Nemattanow, 

Whose  sadden'd  eye  and  heaving  breast 

Betray'd  his  secret  wo. 

'  Let  not  the  warrior's  eye  grow  sad,' 

The  monarch  gravely  said, 

*  Because  his  gifts  are  not  approved 

*  By  a  young  light-hearted  maid. 

*  It  is  not  meet  that  Powhatan 

*  Should  bid  his  daughter  love 

*  The  warrior,  or  receive  his  gifts, 


CANTO     THIRD.  77 

*  Unless  her  heart  approve. 

*  But  let  the  warrior  bring  to  me 
'  The  scalp  of  brave  Sir  John, 

*  And  Metoka  shall  be  his  bride, 

*  And  he  the  monarch's  son.' 

XIX. 

New  fire  lit  up  the  glowing  eyes 

Of  sad  Nemattanow ; 

He  smote  his  war-club  on  the  ground, 

And  firmly  grasp'd  his  bow ; 

And  tomahawk  and  scalping- knife 

He  buckled  to  his  side, 

Gave  one  fierce  look  toward  Paspahey, 

And  down  the  valley  hied. 


END  OF  CANTO  THIRD. 


7* 


CANTO   FOURTH. 


I. 

THE  moon  look'd  down  with  loving  light 

On  river,  grove,  and  hill, 

And  Jamestown  slept  in  quietness, 

Her  homes  were  closed  and  still ; 

The  evening  prayer  from  pious  lips 

Had  been  addressed  to  heaven, 

And  for  relief  from  famine's  power 

Had  many  thanks  been  given ; 

And  while  his  people  were  at  rest 

Sir  John  was  out  alone, 

And  walking  by  the  river  bank, 

Where  the  moon-lit  waters  shone, 

To  see  his  vessel  well  secured 

Against  the  chafing  wave. 

Fear  not  for  him ;  Sir  John  was  arm'd — 

And  more,  Sir  John  was  brave. 

But  as  he  turn'd  him  from  the  shore, 

His  homeward  route  to  trace, 


80  POWHATAN. 

An  arrow  swift  as  light  flew  past — 

So  near,  it  fann'd  his  face ; 

And  quick  upon  his  pathway  rush'd 

An  Indian,  stout  and  tall. 

Sir  John  his  faithful  carbine  drew, 

Well-charged  with  shot  and  ball ; 

But  though  a  squirrel  he  could  bring 

From  the  highest  forest  bough, 

And  though  he  took  deliberate  aim, 

His  carbine  fail'd  him  now. 

On  came  the  savage,  dark  and  fierce, 

Fire  beaming  from  his  eye, 

Leaping  like  tiger  on  his  prey, 

His  war-club  raised  on  high ; 

But  when  within  ten  feet  he  came, 

He  made  a  sudden  stand, 

For  now  Sir  John's  bright  sword  was  out, 

And  flashing  in  his  hand ; 

And  firm  he  stood  and  sternly  look'd 

Upon  his  savage  foe, 

In  readiness,  at  every  point, 

To  give  him  blow  for  blow. 

A  moment's  pause,  and  then  again 

The  Indian  forward  sprang, 

And  now  against  his  falling  club 

Sir  John's  keen  broadsword  rang ; 

And  thrice  the  clash  of  club  and  sword 


CANTO    FOURTH.  81 

Echo'd  the  woods  around, 

And  then  the  weapon  of  Sir  John 

Fell  broken  to  the  ground. 

At  once  he  rush'd  with  desperate  power 

And  grappled  with  his  foe, 

And,  face  to  face,  he  saw  and  knew 

'Twas  fierce  Nemattanow. 

More  deadly  grew  the  conflict  then ; 

It  was  no  feeble  strife, 

When  two  such  warriors,  hand  to  hand, 

Were  struggling,  life  for  life. 

The  hatchet  of  Nemattanow 

Bore  a  well-sharpen'd  blade, 

And  now  to  draw  it  from  his  belt 

His  hand  was  on  it  laid ; 

But  quick  the  strong  arm  of  Sir  John 

Clasp'd  the  stout  Indian  round, 

And  with  a  mighty  effort  brought 

His  foeman  to  the  ground. 

And  as  they  fell,  Nemattanow 

Clutch'd  fast  his  flowing  hair, 

And  twisted  it  about  his  hand, 

As  if  he  would  prepare 

To  cut  away  his  living  scalp 

Before  he  took  his  life ; 

And  now  with  vigorous  gripe  he  seized 

His  deadly  scalping-knife. 


82  POWHATAN. 

Again  Sir  John  with  iron  nerve 

Summoned  his  utmost  strength  ; 

Their  grapple,  from  the  river  side, 

Was  scarcely  twice  his  length ; 

The  grassy  bank  was  smooth  and  steep, 

And  dark  and  deep  the  flood — 

A  moment  more,  that  scalping-knife 

Would  surely  drink  his  blood — 

With  wiry  spring  and  giant  power 

A  sudden  whirl  he  gave, 

And  over  and  over,  down  they  roll'd, 

And  plunged  beneath  the  wave.  n 

II. 

Now  stealing  through  the  forest  trees 

The  ruddy  morning  broke, 

And,  pouring  in  its  dewy  light, 

The  slumbering  monarch  woke. 

He  rose,  and  in  his  morning  walk, 

To  the  sloping  hill  he  hied, 

And  there  again  by  his  old  loved  tree 

Nemattanow  he  spied. 

Weary  and  worn  the  warrior  seem'd, 

His  temple  show'd  a  wound, 

And  dripping  water  from  his  hair 

Was  moistening  the  ground. 

No  quiver  now  was  at  his  back, 


CANTO    FOURTH.  33 

Nor  war-club  by  his  side  ; 

Nor  battle-axe  nor  scalping-knife 

His  enemies  defied. 

But  though  all  weaponless  he  stood, 

His  look  was  bold  and  free, 

And  proud  his  bearing  was,  like  one 

High  flush'd  with  victory. 

III. 

*  And  hast  thou  met/  said  Powhatan, 
'  The  foeman  of  our  race  ? 

*  Methinks  the  joy  of  triumph  now 

*  Is  beaming  from  thy  face. 

'  But  wherefore  art  thou  weaponless, 

'  And  wounded,  worn,  and  weak  ? 

4  And  where's  the  scalp  of  the  mighty  chief, 

'  Thou  wentest  forth  to  seek?' 

IV. 

*  I  met  that  chief,  and  proved  him  well/ 
Nemattanow  replied, 

*  And  I  left  him  down  three  fathoms  deep 
'  Beneath  the  sluggish  tide. 

*  Our  people  now  through  all  our  groves 

*  Their  accustom'd  walks  may  take, 

*  Nor  start  and  cry,  "  There  comes  Sir  John  !" 
'  If  a  twig  but  chance  to  break. 


84  POWHATAN. 

*  Our  fight  was  bloody,  long,  and  fierce ; 

*  The  moon  alone  look'd  on, 

*  And  none  but  the  river-god  can  tell 

*  Where  sleeps  the  brave  Sir  John.' 

V. 

*  The  daring  deed  was  bravely  done/ 
The  joyful  chief  replied ; 

*  For  this,  henceforth  thou  art  my  son, 
'  And  Metoka  thy  bride. 

4  Three  days  a  merry  festival 

*  Thy  triumph  shall  proclaim, 

*  And  every  grove  through  all  our  tribes 
4  Shall  ring  aloud  thy  name ; 

*  And  when  these  joyous  days  are  past, 
'  Fair  Metoka  shall  go, 

*  In  all  our  choicest  gifts  array'd, 
'  To  bless  Nemattanow.' 

VI. 

Now  through  the  halls  of  Powhatan 

The  voice  of  gladness  wakes, 

And  ringing  out  from  hill  to  hill 

The  shout  of  triumph  breaks. 

Stout  warriors  come  with  wampum  belts 

And  robes  of  blue  and  red, 

And  many  a  chief  in  rich  attire, 


CANTO    FOURTH.  95 

With  war-plume  on  his  head  ; 
And  men  and  maidens  in  their  joy 
The  hall  of  council  throng, 
And  every  lodge  and  every  grove 
Echoes  with  dance  and  song. 
And  rich  and  plenteous  is  the  feast 
On  every  board  spread  out ; 
Joy  sparkles  from  a  thousand  eyes, 
High  peals  the  merry  shout ; 
And  loud  and  often  in  their  glee 
They  bless  Nemattanow, 
Whose  powerful  arm  had  overcome 
Their  strange  and  mighty  foe. 

VII. 

And  now,  to  appease  great  Okee's  ire, 
The  priests  with  solemn  care 
Enter  the  sacred  temple  halls, 
And  mystic  rites  prepare — 
Those  sacred  halls  where  priests  perform 
Their  fearful  mystery, 
Places  by  far  too  holy  deem'd 
For  other  eyes  to  see — 
Temples  that  shield  from  vulgar  sight 18 
A  thousand  holy  things, 
Their  idols,  tombs,  and  images 
Of  great  and  ancient  kings. 
8 


86  POWHATAN. 

Out  on  a  grassy,  open  spot, 

Are  fagots  piled  on  high, 

And  leaping  flame  and  rolling  smoke 

Are  towering  to  the  sky ; 

And  there,  to  wait  the  priest's  return, 

Hundreds  are  gathered  round, 

To  join  the  mystic  revelry, 

And  dance  on  holy  ground — 

When  lo  !  the  solemn  man  comes  forth  19 

With  slow  and  measured  tread ; 

A  crown  of  snakes  and  weasel  skins 

Is  borne  upon  his  head ; 

Atop  a  tuft  of  feathers  serves 

To  bind  them  in  their  place, 

And  serpent  heads  and  weasel  claws 

Hang  round  his  neck  and  face. 

His  naked  shoulders  and  his  breast 

Are  stain'd  a  blood-red  hue, 

And  grim  and  blood-red  is  the  mask 

His  fiery  eyes  look  through. 

The  sacred  weed  is  in  his  hand,  ** 

That  Okee's  favor  wins, 

Whose  grateful  odor  hath  the  power 

To  expiate  all  sins ; 

He  hurls  it  forth  with  sinewy  arm 

Into  the  hottest  flame, 

And  thrice  aloud  in  solemn  tone 


CANTO    FOURTH.  87 

Invokes  great  Okee's  name. 

At  once  they  leap  and  form  a  ring, 

With  shout  and  hideous  yell, 

And  round  the  flames  they  whirl  and  scream, 

Like  a  thousand  fiends  of  hell. 

With  strange  contortions,  flashing  eyes, 

And  long  and  flying  hair, 

Around  and  round,  for  six  long  hours,  21 

They  battle  with  the  air. 

And  then  again  through  every  hall 

The  feast  and  song  renew, 

And  all  day  long  and  all  the  night 

Their  festive  mirth  pursue. 

VIII. 

The  third  day  of  the  festival 

Now  drawing  to  its  close, 

Promised  the  weary  revellers 

Cessation  and  repose. 

Nemattanow  with  joyful  eyes 

Beheld  that  sun  go  down, 

Whose  setting  hour  would  give  to  him 

Earth's  richest,  fairest  crown. 

But  though  the  time  had  joyous  pass'd 

Since  first  the  feast  began, 

One  circumstance  there  was,  that  still 

Disturb'd  old  Powhatan. 


88  POWHATAN. 

His  favorite  chief,  Pamunky's  king, 

Though  call'd  with  special  care 

To  grace  these  glad  rejoicing  days, 

Had  never  once  been  there. 

Why  he  came  not,  no  one  could  tell ; 

A  messenger  each  day, 

Had  been  despatch'd  to  learn  the  cause 

Which  kept  that  chief  away ; 

The  first  reported  he  had  left 

With  fifty  of  his  clan, 

At  dawning  of  the  first  feast-day, 

For  the  halls  of  Powhatan ; 

And  those  who  followed,  day  by  day, 

No  other  news  could  bring, 

And  great  the  marvel  was,  at  this 

Strange  absence  of  the  king. 

IX. 

The  sun  is  low,  and  lodge  and  tree 
Long  shadows  now  impart, 
But  a  sadder,  deeper  shadow  fell 
On  Metoka's  young  heart ; 
For  now  the  dreaded  hour  had  come 
When  she  abroad  must  rove, 
Away  from  childhood's  happy  home, 
With  the  man  she  could  not  love. 
She  took  her  sister  by  the  hand 


CANTO    FOURTH.  89 

To  bid  a  sad  farewell, 

And  these  the  soft  and  tender  words 

From  her  trembling  lips  that  fell. 

X. 

*  O,  Matachanna,  must  I  go 

*  From  this  loved  spot  away  ? 

'  No  more  among  these  green  old  trees, 

*  With  thee,  dear  sister,  play  ? 

*  No  more  upon  the  hill-side  run, 
'  And  chase  the  butterfly, 

*  Or  down  the  shady  valley  see 

*  The  nimble  deer  dart  by? 

*  A  pleasant  thing  it  is  to  see 
'  The  lovely  light  of  day, 

*  When  gentle  Matachanna  is 

*  Companion  of  my  way ! 

*  But  away  alone  with  a  cruel  one, 

*  My  day  will  turn  to  night, 

*  And  never  more  will  Metoka 

*  Behold  the  pleasant  light. 

*  But  when,  dear  sister,  I  am  gone, 

*  Still  love  our  greenwood  bowers, 

*  And  plant  around  our  lovely  spring 

*  The  pretty  summer  flowers. 

*  And  love  our  father  fervently, 
1  And  bless  him  every  day, 

8* 


90  POWHATAN. 

*  And  sometimes  gently  speak  to  him 

*  Of  her  that's  far  away — ' 

XL 

But  hark !  a  shout  comes  on  the  air, 

A  war-cry  loud  and  shrill ; 

It  seems  a  shout  of  victory — 

Again,  and  louder  still. 

Old  Powhatan  rush'd  from  the  hall 

With  war-club  in  his  hand, 

And  a  hundred  warriors  seize  their  arms, 

And  round  the  old  chief  stand, 

And  listen  to  that  coming  shout, 

That  now  rings  loud  and  clear ; 

And  soon  from  out  the  darkling  grove 

A  warrior  train  appear. 

*  Pamunky's  king  !'  cried  Powhatan, 

*  Tis  Opechancanough ; 

*  I  see  his  raven-plume  on  high, 

*  His  giant  form  below. 

*  Now  let  a  cry  of  welcome  rise 
'  Till  hill  and  forest  ring, 

'  For  a  truer  chief  no  tribe  can  boast, 

*  Than  brave  Pamunky's  king.' 
At  once  with  one  united  voice 
Their  answering  shout  rose  high, 
And  loud  and  long  the  echo  sweli'd, 


CANTO    FOURTH.  91 

Like  an  army's  battle-cry. 

Pamunky  led  his  warriors  up, 

Form'd  in  a  hollow  square, 

With  bowstrings  drawn  and  arrows  notch'd, 

All  pointing  in  with  care, 

To  guard  a  prisoner,  who  with  arms 

Tight-pinion'd  might  be  seen 

Advancing  with  a  stately  step, 

And  calm  and  noble  mein. 

On  either  side  three  warriors  stout 

Held  fast  upon  each  arm, 

With  weapons  ready  for  the  death 

Upon  the  least  alarm. 

*  Why  come  so  late/  said  Powhatan, 

*  Our  festive  rites  to  share  ? 

*  And  what  brave  captive  hast  thou  brought 

*  Amid  thy  warriors  there  V 

XII. 

« True,  I  am  late,'  Pamunky  said, 

*  But  my  lateness  to  atone, 

« I  bring  you  here  a  captive  bound, 

*  The  mighty  chief,  Sir  John/ 

A  moment,  struck  with  deep  surprise, 
Each  warrior  held  his  breath, 
And  a  stillness  reign'd  through  all  the  crowd, 
Like  that  in  the  halls  of  death. 


92  POWHATAN. 

First  Powhatan  at  the  prisoner  glanced, 

Then  at  Nemattanow, 

Who  look'd  as  though  he'd  sink  to  earth 

With  wonder,  shame,  and  wo. 

And  when  the  first  surprise  was  o'er, 

The  gathering  throngs  drew  round, 

And  a  mighty  swell  of  triumph  rose, 

That  shook  the  very  ground. 

Warrior  and  chief,  and  old  and  young, 

Pour'd  their  full  voices  out, 

And  never  did  woods  give  echo  back 

To  such  a  ringing  shout. 

When  silence  was  again  restored 

The  old  chief  waved  his  hand, 

And  with  imperial  look  and  tone, 

To  all  gave  this  command. 

*  The  evening  shades  begin  to  fall, 

*  Let  noise  and  revel  cease ; 

'  Our  three  days'  feasting  now  requires 

*  A  night  of  rest  and  peace. 

1  The  captive  to  the  inner  hall 

*  Convey  with  special  care, 

*  And  forty  of  our  bravest  men, 

*  Till  morning,  guard  him  there. 
'  To-morrow  let  our  feast  again 
'  With  double  rites  be  crown'd, 

*  And  a  double  song  of  victory 


CANTO    FOURTH.  93 

*  Through  all  our  tribes  resound ; 

'  Then  solemn  council  shall  decide 

*  What  fate  shall  be  prepared 

*  For  this  proud  chief,  that  in  our  realm 

*  Our  sovereign  power  has  dared. 

'  And  thou,  Nemattanow,  shalt  be — ' 

Here  turn'd  the  monarch  round, 

But  lo  !  the  fierce  Nemattanow 

Was  nowhere  to  be  found. 

His  name  was  shouted  on  the  air 

A  thousand  times  in  vain, 

And  runners  flew  this  way  and  that, 

O'er  rugged  hill  and  plain ; 

And  hall  and  lodge  were  searched  throughout, 

And  grove  and  glen  explored, 

But  all  the  search  till  night  set  in 

No  tidings  could  afford. 

XIII. 

Again  the  day  is  dawning, 

And  the  revellers  are  out, 
And  their  whooping  and  their  cheering 

Might  be  heard  for  miles  about ; 
And  the  day  is  spent  in  feasting, 

And  'tis  joy  and  music  all, 
Save  where  the  mighty  monarch, 

In  his  great  council-hall, 


94  POWHATAN. 

In  his  royal  robes  is  sitting, 

And  his  war-chiefs  round  him  wait, 

To  decide  in  solemn  council 
Their  illustrious  captive's  fate. 

XIV. 

Though  many  honor'd  brave  Sir  John 

For  his  spirit  bold  and  high, 

The  solemn  council  now  decide 

That  brave  Sir  John  must  die  ; 

For  this  alone,  they  deem'd,  would  serve 

To  appease  great  Okee's  wrath ; 

And  safety  to  the  monarch's  realm 

Required  the  strange  chief's  death. 

So  great  a  foe  and  terrible 

Their  tribes  had  never  known : 

Hence  'twas  decreed,  that  in  his  fall, 

Great  Powhatan  alone 

Was  worthy  to  inflict  the  blow 

This  mighty  chief  to  slay ; 

And  all  demanded  that  the  deed 

Be  done  without  delay. 

XV. 

The  monarch  sitteth  on  his  throne, 
In  his  dignity  array'd ; 
Mysterious  power  is  in  his  eye, 


CANTO    FOURTH.  95 

That  maketh  man  afraid ; 

The  women  of  his  court  stand  up 

With  awe  behind  the  throne, 

But  his  daughters  in  their  beauty  sit 

On  either  hand  alone  ; 

While  all  around  the  spacious  hall 

Long  rows  of  warriors  stand, 

With  nodding  war- plume  on  each  head, 

And  each  with  weapon  in  his  hand  ; 

And  scalps  and  trophies  line  the  walls, 

That  fifty  wars  supplied, 

And  richest  robes  and  shining  belts 

Appear  on  every  side. 

And  all  is  placed  in  fit  array 

To  take  the  captive's  eye, 

When  he  should  come  within  the  hall 

To  be  condemn'd  and  die — 

For  'twas  not  meet  to  take  the  life 

Of  so  great  and  strange  a  man, 

Till  he  had  seen  the  greatness  too 

Of  great  King  Powhatan. 

XVI. 

Now  through  the  festal  crowds  abroad 
Heralds  aloud  make  known, 
That  soon  the  great  Sir  John  must  die, 
Before  the  monarch's  throne. 


96  POWHATAN. 

Hush'd  is  the  song  and  ceased  the  dance, 

And  darkening  throngs  draw  near, 

In  awful  silence  round  the  hall, 

And  bend  a  listening  ear, 

To  catch  the  floating  sounds  that  come, 

Perchance  the  fatal  blow, 

Perchance  the  death-song  of  Sir  John, 

Or  his  dying  shriek  of  wo. 

A  private  door  to  that  great  hall 

Is  open'd  slow  and  wide, 

And  a  guard  of  forty  men  march  in 

With  looks  of  lofty  pride, 

For  in  their  midst  that  captive  walks 

With  tightly  pinion'd  arm, 

Whose  very  name  had  power  to  shake 

The  boldest  with  alarm. 

The  captive's  step  is  firm  and  free, 

His  bearing  grave  and  high, 

And  calm  and  quiet  dignity 

Is  beaming  from  his  eye. 

One  universal  shout  arose 

When  first  Sir  John  appear'd, 

And  all  the  gathering  throng  without 

In  answer  loudly  cheer'd. 

And  then  the  monarch  waved  his  hand, 

And  all  was  still  again ; 

And  round  the  hall  the  prisoner  march'd, 


CANTO    FOURTH.  97 

Led  by  the  warrior  train ; 

And  thrice  they  went  the  circuit  round, 

That  all  might  see  the  face 

That  bore  such  pale  and  spirit  marks 

Of  a  strange  and  mighty  race. 

XVII. 

In  the  centre  of  the  hall  is  placed 
A  square  and  massive  stone, 
And  beds  of  twigs  and  forest  leaves 
Are  thickly  round  it  strown ; 
And  there  a  heavy  war-club  stands, 
With  knots  all  cover'd  o'er ; 
It  bears  the  marks  of  many  wars, 
Hard,  smooth,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 
It  was  the  monarch's  favorite  club, 
For  times  of  peril  kept, 
'Twas  near  him  when  upon  the  throne, 
And  near  him  when  he  slept. 
No  other  hands  had  ever  dared 
That  ponderous  club  to  wield, 
And  never  could  a  foe  escape 
When  that  club  swept  the  field. 
Now  slowly  to  this  fatal  spot 
They  lead  Sir  John  with  care, 
And  bind  his  feet  about  with  withes, 
And  lay  him  prostrate  there ; 
9 


FOWHATAN. 

And  look  and  listen  eagerly 

For  him  to  groan  or  weep ; 

But  he  lays  his  head  down  tranquilly, 

As  a  child  that  goes  to  sleep. 

The  monarch  with  a  stately  step 

Descendeth  from  the  throne, 

And  all  give  back  before  the  light, 

From  his  fiery  eye  that  shone. 

He  raiseth  that  huge  war-club  high ; 

The  warriors  hold  their  breath, 

And  look  to  see  that  mighty  arm 

Hurl  down  the  blow  of  death — 

A  sudden  shriek  bursts  through  the  air, 

A  wild  and  piercing  cry, 

And  swift  as  light  a  form  is  seen 

Across  the  hall  to  fly. 

The  startled  monarch  stays  his  hand, 

For  now,  beneath  his  blow, 

He  sees  his  lovely  Metoka 

By  the  captive  kneeling  low. 

Her  gentle  arm  is  round  his  head, 

Her  tearful  eyes  upturned, 

And  there  the  pure  and  hallow'd  light 

Of  angel  mercy  burn'd. 

Compassion  lit  its  gentle  fires  ^ 

In  the  breast  of  Powhatan ; 

The  warrior  to  the  father  yields, 


CANTO    FOURTH.  99 

The  monarch  to  the  man. 

Slowly  his  war-club  sinks  to  earth, 

And  slowly  from  his  eye 

Recedes  the  fierce,  vindictive  fire, 

That  burn'd  before  so  high. 

His  nerves  relax — he  looks  around 

Upon  his  warrior  men — 

Perchance  their  unsubdued  revenge 

His  soul  might  fire  again — 

But  no ;  the  soft  contagion  spreads, 

And  all  have  felt  its  power, 

And  hearts  are  touch'd  and  passions  hush'd, 

For  mercy  ruled  the  hour. 

XVIII. 

The  monarch  gently  raised  his  child, 
And  brush'd  her  tears  away ; 
And  call'd  Pamunky  to  his  side, 
And  bade  without  delay 
To  free  the  captive  from  his  bonds, 
And  show  him  honors  due, 
And  lead  him  to  the  festive  hall 
Their  banquet  to  renew. 

XIX. 

The  day  is  past,  and  past  the  night, 
And  now  again  the  morning  light, 


100  POWHATAN. 

With  golden  pinions  all  unfurl'd, 
Comes  forth  to  wake  a  sleeping  world ; 
And  brave  Sir  John,  with  footsteps  free, 
And  a  trusty  guard  of  warriors  three, 
Through  the  deep  woods  is  on  his  way 
To  greet  his  friends  at  Paspahey. 


END  OF  CANTO  FOURTH. 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


I. 

DECEMBER'S  sun  is  pale  and  low, 
Chilly  and  raw  the  north  winds  blow, 
Dark  threatening  clouds  are  floating  by, 
And  Jamestown's  sons  with  sadden'd  eye 
Look  out  upon  the  dreary  wild 
Of  woods  and  waters,  where  exiled, 
And  distant  far  from  friends  and  home, 
They  see  the  storms  of  winter  come. 
One  half  their  number  they  had  lost, 
Since  on  this  wild  and  desert  coast 
They  first  set  foot ;  and  ere  the  spring 
Fresh  fruits  and  flowers  again  would  bring, 
They  felt  that  others  too  must  fall : 
For  though  their  number  was  but  small, 
Their  store  of  food  was  smaller  still ; 
And  oft  this  thought  a  deadly  chill 
Sent  to  each  heart :  they  saw  the  hour 
Was  coming  soon,  when  famine's  power 
9* 


„ 

102  POWHATAN. 

Must  sweep  them  off,  as  leaves  are  cast 

On  the  cold  earth  by  autumn's  blast. 

But  mid  this  gloom  and  prospect  dread, 

That  o'er  all  hearts  a  sadness  shed, 

No  matter  by  what  foe  assail'd, 

Sir  John's  brave  spirit  never  quail'd. 

Early  and  late  he  knew  no  rest ; 

He  nursed  the  sick,  sooth'd  the  distress'd, 

Cheer'd  the  despairing,  and  anon, 

With  gun  in  hand,  away  has  gone 

To  seek  the  wild  duck  on  the  wave, 

Or  game  within  the  darksome  wood, 

The  famish'd  colonists  to  save, 

And  spread  their  common  board  with  food. 

II. 

One  morning  early,  while  the  gray 
And  sleeping  mist  on  the  river  lay, 
Ere  yet  the  sun  from  his  ocean  bed 
Had  tinged  the  distant  hills  with  red, 
In  quest  of  game  Sir  John  had  gone 
Far  down  the  river  vale  alone ; 
And  standing  on  a  gentle  height 
He  view'd  the  silver  winding  James — 
What  vision  glances  on  his  sight  ? 
What  sudden  fire  his  cheek  inflames  ? 
Is  that  a  sail  ?     Is  that  a  ship, 


CANTO    FIFTH.  103 

Glides  slowly  round  the  headland  dim  ? 

With  straining  eye  and  parted  lip, 

He  breathless  stands,  with  moveless  limb, 

And  throws  his  eager  look  afar, 

Like  the  quick  shooting  of  a  star. 

A  sail  ?  a  ship  ?     He  looks  again — 

It  is,  it  is — he  sees  it  plain ; 

He  sees  the  sails,  he  sees  the  hull, 

An  English  flag  at  mast-head  flies : 

And  now  his  throbbing  heart  is  full, 

And  tears  are  crowding  to  his  eyes ; 

Those  eyes  which  had  not  known  a  tear, 

Before  this  hour,  for  many  a  year. 

III. 

With  a  light  heart,  and  step  as  light, 
He  soon  retraced  his  homeward  route, 
And  there  the  ship  was  full  in  sight, 
And  all  the  colonists  were  out 
And  gazing  off  upon  the  river. 
With  pious  thankfulness  some  lift 
Their  eyes  and  hands  to  the  great  Giver 
Of  every  good  and  perfect  gift ; 
Some,  wild  with  joy,  run  here  and  there, 
Grasping  each  other's  eager  hand ; 
Some  with  quick  motion  beat  the  air, 
And  some  like  moveless  statues  stand. 


104  POWHATAN. 

Slowly  the  ship  comes  sailing  on, 
And  now  she  rides  abreast  the  town ; 
The  sailors  up  the  shrouds  have  gone, 
The  ponderous  anchor  plunges  down, 
And  curbs  her  gently  to  the  breeze, 
Like  a  proud  steed  that  feels  the  bit ; 
And  now  she  heads  the  rippling  seas, 
And  her  furling  sails  on  the  long  yards  flit. 
A  light  boat  launches  from  the  shore, 
Each  oarsman  nimbly  plies  his  oar 
Across  the  waters,  bright  and  clear. 
The  tall  ship  rapidly  they  near, 
And  soon,  half  lost  to  view,  they  glide' 
To  the  deep  shadow  of  her  side, 
Where  the  rocking  boat  seems  but  a  speck ; 
Man  after  man  mounts  to  the  deck, 
And  here  Sir  John  with  joyous  smile 
Greets  Newport  from  Britannia's  isle. 

IV. 

A  thousand  questions  now  are  ask'd, 

And  a  thousand  answers  given ; 

Sir  John  tells  how  with  savages, 

And  famine,  he  has  striven ; 

How  in  his  light  and  open  barge, 

With  scarce  a  dozen  men, 

He  had  scour'd  the  mighty  Chesapeake, 


CANTO    FIFTH.  105 

Round  all  her  shores  had  been, 
And  up  the  rivers  from  the  bay 
To  where  the  waters  fall, 
And  seen  the  wild  and  warlike  tribes, 
And  dared  the  power  of  all. 

V. 

Then  Captain  Newport  told  what  joy 

King  James's  heart  had  known, 

That  such  a  goodly  land  as  this 

Was  added  to  his  throne ; 

And  that  to  make  the  savage  tribes 

With  English  power  content, 

To  their  great  chieftain,  Powhatan, 

King  James  by  him  had  sent 

Rich,  royal  presents,  such  as  kings 

Of  power  and  dignity 

Might  to  a  royal  brother  make ; 

Gold  rings,  rich  cutlery, 

A  robe  of  state  of  finest  woof 

And  of  a  scarlet  red, 

And  a  sparkling  crown  thick-set  with  gems, 

Fit  for  a  monarch's  head. 

And  as  the  kings  had  worn  no  crowns 

As  yet  in  this  new  land, 

It  was  King  James's  special  will, 

And  thus  he  gave  command, 


106  POWHATAN. 

That  Captain  Newport  and  Sir  John 
This  kingly  crown  should  see 
Placed  on  the  head  of  Powhatan 
With  due  solemnity. 
Now  on  the  shore  in  merry  bands 
Light-hearted  sailors  roam, 
And  listening  ears  of  colonists 
Are  filFd  with  news  from  home. 

VI. 

The  council-hall  of  Powhatan 

In  quietness  was  closed ; 

And  in  his  warmer  winter  lodge 

The  aged  chief  reposed : 

And  when  the  piercing  northwest  wind 

The  crevices  came  through, 

He  closer  drew  his  robe  of  fur, 

And  fed  his  fire  anew. 

And  when  upon  his  cabin  wall 

His  glowing  fire  grew  bright, 

And  brighter  still,  betokening 

The  coming  on  of  night, 

The  monarch  took  his  usual  round 

Through  hall  and  lodge  and  yard, 

To  see  that  all  was  well  secured, 

And  set  his  nightly  guard. 

First  to  the  east  and  then  the  west 


CANTO    FIFTH.  107 

He  glanced  his  restless  eye, 

The  trees  were  rocking  in  the  wind, 

Dark  clouds  were  in  the  sky, 

And  well  the  experienced  monarch  saw 

In  their  motion  and  their  form, 

And  heard  along  the  groaning  hills, 

The  spirit  of  the  storm. 

VII. 

And  as  he  look'd,  and  as  he  turn'd, 

He  saw  a  pale-face  man — 

How  quick  the  leaping  blood  went  through 

The  veins  of  Powhatan ! 

Changed  in  an  instant  was  his  form, 

From  a  feeble  man  and  old, 

Slow  moving  in  his  furry  robe, 

To  a  warrior  stout  and  bold. 

His  outer  cloak  was  dash'd  aside, 

And  left  his  shoulders  bare  ; 

No  more  he  heard  the  whistling  wind 

Or  felt  the  biting  air ; 

His  buskin'd  feet  were  planted  firm, 

His  heavy  club  swung  light, 

And  had  a  thousand  foes  been  there, 

He  was  ready  for  the  fight. 

That  pale-face  man  came  out  alone 

From  the  moaning  woods'  deep  shade, 


108  POWHATAN. 

And  Still  alone  approach'd  the  lodge, 

Nor  hostile  sign  display'd ; 

But  with  a  fearless  air  came  up, 

And  with  a  stately  stride, 

And  Powhatan  and  brave  Sir  John 

Were  standing  side  by  side. 

And  now  within  the  inner  lodge 

Together  they  retire, 

And  on  the  monarch's  furry  couch 

Sit  by  the  glowing  fire. 

No  word  or  look  from  Powhatan 

Betray'd  his  secret  thought, 

Nor  deign'd  he  to  inquire  what  cause 

His  visiter  had  brought ; 

But  sat  and  look'd  him  in  the  face 

His  guest's  deep  thoughts  to  scan, 

Until  Sir  John  the  silence  broke, 

And  thus  his  speech  began. 

VIII. 

*  Great  werowance,  I  come  to  bring 

*  A  greeting  kind  and  true 

*  From  great  King  James  beyond  the  sea, 

*  Who  sends  good- will  to  you. 

*  He  is  a  king  all  terrible, 

*  With  ships  and  wealth  and  power, 

*  Sufficient  to  o'erwhelm  your  tribes 


CANTO    FIFTH.  109 

4  And  slay  them  in  an  hour. 

*  Let  Manahocks  and  M anakins 

*  And  Powhatans  combine, 

*  They  could  not  stand  one  day  before 

*  This  mighty  king  of  mine. 

*  But  yet  his  love  to  Powhatan 

*  Is  brotherly  and  pure ; 

*  And  as  a  token  that  it  will 

*  Forever  warm  endure, 

*  He  sends  you  rich  and  royal  gifts, 
'  A  robe  of  scarlet  red, 

'  A  sparkling  crown  thick-set  with  gems, 

*  Fit  for  a  monarch's  head, 

*  And  other  presents  rich  and  rare, 

*  As  you  shall  see  and  know, 

*  When  to  be  crown'd  in  solemn  form 

*  To  Jamestown  you  shall  go. 

*  He  sent  them  in  a  mighty  ship 

*  By  a  captain  of  the  sea, 

*  Who  has  commission  from  our  king, 
'  In  company  with  me, 

*  To  place  the  crown  upon  your  head, 

*  A  deed  to  great  kings  done 

*  In  all  the  lands  beyond  the  sea 

*  To  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

'  And  Captain  Newport  waits  to  know 

*  What  day  you  will  be  there, 

10 


110  POWHATAN. 

*  That  all  things  for  the  solemn  rite 

*  We  duly  may  prepare.' 

IX. 

Proudly  the  monarch  raised  his  head, 
And  proudly  turn'd  his  eye 
Upon  the  spoils  of  many  wars, 
And  scalps  that  hung  on  high ; 
And  then  his  trusty  bow  and  club 
He  haughtily  surveyed, 
And  thus  with  stately  air  and  tone 
His  brief  reply  he  made. 

*  If  such  rare  presents  have  been  sent 

*  From  your  great  king  to  me, 

*  Remember  too,  I  am  a  king, 
1  And  all  this  land  you  see, 

*  And  all  these  woods  and  groves  are  mine, 

*  And  the  mighty  rivers  too, 

1  That  pour  down  from  the  mountain  sides 

*  And  glide  these  valleys  through. 

*  And  thirty  tribes  with  all  their  chiefs 
1  Their  homage  pay  to  me, 

*  And  fight  my  battles  when  I  call — 

*  Your  captain  of  the  sea 

*  Should  better  know  the  place  he  fills : 

*  His  presents  to  bestow, 


CANTO    FIFTH.  Ill 

*  He  may,  when  suits  him,  come  to  me ; 
'  To  him  I  shall  not  go.9 

X. 

Sir  John  knew  well  the  monarch's  pride 

And  firm  unbending  will, 

And  well  he  knew  'twere  vain  to  seek 

His  purpose  to  fulfil ; 

He  therefore  urged  his  suit  no  more, 

But  at  the  chief's  request, 

Consented  to  abide  till  morn, 

And  in  his  lodge  to  rest. 

And  soundly  slept  Sir  John  that  night 

Upon  his  deer-skin  bed, 

With  hand  upon  his  broadsword  hilt 

And  pistol  by  his  head. 

And  the  first  red  morning  ray  that  came, 

Bright  gleaming  o'er  the  plain, 

Beheld  him  on  the  forest  route 

To  Jamestown's  homes  again. 

XL 

A  week  of  winter  storms  had  pass'd, 
And  brighter  days  now  shone, 
And  Powhatan  no  longer  sat 
In  his  winter  lodge  alone, 


112  POWHATAN. 

But  in  his  council-hall  appear'd 

Among  his  warriors  bold ; 

And  all  his  chiefs  were  gathered  there, 

A  council- talk  to  hold. 

And  long  about  those  royal  gifts 

They  talk'd  with  solemn  air ; 

Gifts  from  a  land  beyond  the  sea, 

Which  only  kings  might  wear ; 

And  many  questions  had  been  raised, 

And  many  doubts  remain'd, 

What  secret  charm  for  good  or  ill 

Those  wondrous  gifts  contain'd. 

But  ere  those  doubts  were  half  resolved, 

While  yet  the  talk  went  on, 

One  of  the  outer  guard  rush'd  in, 

Exclaiming  that  Sir  John 

And  fifty  of  his  pale-face  tribe, 

All  marching  in  a  file 

Across  the  woods,  with  shining  arms, 

Were  now  within  a  mile 

Of  the  council-hall.    An  instant  fire 

Flash'd  from  each  warrior's  eye, 

But  there  was  no  tumultuous  rush, 

No  shout  or  battle-cry ; 

With  knitted  brow  and  silent  step 

Each  seized  his  club  and  bow, 

And  girded  on  his  scalping-knife : 


CANTO    FIFTH.  113 

And  now  in  one  grim  row, 
A  hundred  warriors  arm'd  for  death, 
And  led  by  their  great  king, 
Before  the  council-hall  appear, 
And  wait  what  fate  may  bring. 

XII. 

And  soon  the  pale-face  men  came  out, 
And  halted  by  the  wood, 
Their  bright  guns  gleaming  in  their  hands, 
Facing  the  hall  they  stood, 
While  brave  Sir  John,  like  an  armed  knight, 
March'd  forward  and  alone, 
And  his  errand  and  his  company 
To  Powhatan  made  known. 
He  told  him  that  his  men  had  come 
King  James's  gifts  to  bear, 
And  that  the  captain  of  the  sea 
Stood  with  his  warriors  there  ; 
And  all  things  were  in  readiness, 
If  it  pleased  his  sovereign  will, 
The  high  behest  of  great  King  James 
In  the  crowning  to  fulfil. 
A  sharp  glance  then  the  monarch  sent 
To  the  borders  of  the  wood, 
And  ask'd  Sir  John  to  point  him  out 
Where  that  sea-captain  stood. 
10* 


114  POWHATAN. 

And  on  him  long  and  steadily 

He  fix'd  his  eagle  ken, 

To  learn  if  that  strange  captain  look'd 

Like  other  pale-face  men. 

At  last  the  monarch  gave  consent 

For  the  gifts  to  be  convey'd 

To  the  council-hall :  but  only  four 

Of  the  armed  men  should  aid 

The  captain  and  Sir  John ;  the  rest 

Should  strictly  be  compell'd 

To  stay  beside  the  distant  wood, 

While  the  royal  rite  was  held. 

XIII. 

And  now  within  the  council-hall, 

And  by  the  monarch's  throne, 

Around  in  rich  profusion  spread, 

The  royal  presents  shone. 

There  stood  Sir  John  with  four  arm'd  men, 

And  the  captain  of  the  sea, 

But  the  monarch's  warriors  in  the  hall 

Were  a  hundred  men  and  three. 

The  queens  of  twenty  tribes  appear, 

And  in  their  midst  they  bring 

Two  maidens  bright  to  grace  the  scene, 

The  daughters  of  the  king. 

And  there  in  his  great  dignity 


CANTO    FIFTH.  115 

Sat  Powhatan  alone, 

In  the  broad  circle  that  was  made 

Around  the  monarch's  throne ; 

And  while  his  people  peer'd  and  press'd 

Those  splendid  gifts  to  see, 

He  never  moved  his  princely  eyes, 

But  kept  his  dignity. 

And  when  Sir  John  the  signal  gave 

For  the  monarch  to  come  down, 

And,  standing  by  the  throne,  receive 

The  robe  of  state  and  crown, 

With  motion  slow  and  lofty  air 

He  stepped  upon  the  floor, 

And  as  he  pass'd,  with  careless  eye 

He  glanced  the  presents  o'er. 

XIV. 

Then  took  Sir  John  the  robe  of  state 
And  gave  it  to  the  king ; 
And  now  with  look  of  majesty 
He  eyed  the  curious  thing ; 
And  felt  it  o'er  and  o'er  again — 
As  soft  and  fine  it  seems 
As  any  beaver's  fur  that  lives 
Beside  his  woodland  streams. 
And  much  the  color  fills  his  eye ; 
A  shade  so  pure  and  bright, 


116  POWHATAN. 

•* 

In  any  work  of  art  before, 

Had  never  met  his  sight. 

And  now  the  captain  and  Sir  John 

The  robe  of  state  unfold, 

With  outstretched  arms  and  lifted  hands 

Aloft  the  fabric  hold ; 

And  while  the  monarch's  noble  form 

They  wrap  the  vesture  round, 

Its  many  broad  and  shining  folds 

Sweep  gracefully  the  ground. 

Stately  the  monarch  walks  the  hall 

And  turns  from  side  to  side, 

And  all  his  men  and  warriors  stand 

And  look  with  awe  and  pride. 

XV. 

Then  Newport  lifted  up  the  crown, 

With  sparkling  gems  that  shone, 

And  told  the  monarch  to  kneel  down 

With  hand  upon  the  throne  ; 

For  this  mysterious,  sacred  thing 

Was  a  type  of  sovereignty, 

And  all  great  kings  that  had  been  crown'd, 

Were  crown'd  on  bended  knee. 

A  strange  look  then  the  monarch  gave 

To  the  captain  of  the  sea, 

As  though  he  comprehended  not 


CANTO    FIFTH.  117 


This  type  of  sovereignty ; 

And  Newport  long  confronted  him 

With  arguments  profound, 

To  make  him  understand  that  kings 

Must  kneel  when  they  are  crown'd. 

But  still  the  monarch  could  not  see 

The  force  of  what  he  said, 

And  to  his  labor'd  argument 

He  gravely  shook  his  head. 

His  iron  knee  had  never  learn'd 

To  any  power  to  bow, 

And  'twas  not  all  the  kings  on  earth 

Could  make  him  bend  it  now. 

But  glancing  round  upon  his  men, 

Unbending  still  he  stood,  a 

Upright  in  native  dignity, 

Like  an  old  oak  of  the  wood. 

This  trouble  vex'd  exceedingly 

The  captain  of  the  sea, 

Who  tried  by  every  art  to  gain 

Some  slight  bend  of  the  knee, 

That  he  on  his  return  might  tell 

King  James,  and  tell  him  true, 

That  Powhatan  unto  the  crown 

Had  paid  the  homage  due. 

But  all  in  vain ;  the  more  he  strove, 

The  firmer  stood  the  king : 


118  POWHATAN. 

Example  or  persuasive  skill 

Could  no  compliance  bring, 

Till  on  his  shoulders  both  his  hands 

With  gentle  force  he  laid, 

And  pressing  forward,  thought  he  saw 

The  monarch  bend  his  head. 

'  It  is  enough,'  the  captain  said ; 

*  To  bow  the  head,  or  knee, 

*  With  equal  honor  vindicates 
'  The  type  of  sovereignty :' 
And  then  upon  that  lofty  brow 
He  placed  the  glittering  thing, 

And  in  King  James's  stead  pronounced 
A  blessing  on  the  king. 


END  OF  CANTO  FIFTH. 


CANTO    SIXTH. 


I. 

THE  warm  spring  came,  and  the  opening  flower 

On  the  sloping  hill  was  seen ; 

And  summer  breathed  on  the  waking  woods, 

And  dress'd  them  in  their  green ; 

The  wild-bird  in  the  branches  sung, 

The  wild-deer  fed  below ; 

Far  up  the  river  side  appeared 

The  hunter  with  his  bow ; 

And  on  the  fresh  and  sunny  field, 

Hard  toiling  through  the  day, 

The  weary  colonist  was  out 

By  the  groves  of  Paspahey. 

Ship  after  ship  came  o'er  the  sea, 

Laden  with  fresh  supplies, 

And  men  by  hundreds  came  to  join 

This  new  world's  enterprise ; 

And  up  and  down  the  noble  James 

Were  settlements  begun, 


120  POWHATAN. 

And  many  an  opening  in  the  woods 

Look'd  out  upon  the  sun. 

The  busy  tradesman  ope'd  his  store 

Of  goods  and  wares  fo$  sale, 

And  blithely  by  the  barnyard  sang 

The  milkmaid  with  her  pail ; 

The  stout  mechanic  in  his  shop 

Whistled  the  hours  away, 

And  sturdily  his  labor  plied 

Through  the  long  summer  day. 

With  boding  and  uneasy  mind 

The  thoughtful  Indian  view'd 

The  fatal  signs  of  English  power 

Spread  o'er  his  solitude  ; 

And  oft  he  brooded  many  a  scheme, 

And  much  he  long'd  to  see 

A  withering  blight  or  death-blow  given 

To  this  wide-spreading  tree. 

II. 

At  evening  sat  King  Powhatan 

Beside  his  daughter  fair, 

To  watch  the  far-off  lightning's  flash, 

And  breathe  the  cooling  air : 

Twas  by  the  door  of  his  summer  lodge ; 

His  guards  stood  round  in  sight, 

The  moon  between  the  flying  clouds 


CANTO    SIXTH.  121 

Sent  down  a  paly  light, 

When  Opechancanough  arrived, 

With  an  air  of  kingly  pride, 

And  greeting  great  King  Powhatan, 

Sat  thoughtful  by  his  side. 

III. 

*  What  tidings,  Opechancanough  V 
Said  the  monarch  to  his  guest ; 

*  Has  the  tree  of  these  pale-faces  spread 

*  So  wide  thou  canst  not  rest  ? 

*  And  hast  thou  come  in  sadness  now 
'  To  tell  thy  thoughts  to  me, 

*  And  to  pray  the  spirit  of  yonder  fires 

*  To  blast  the  pale-face  tree  V 

IV. 

Then  spoke  Pamunky's  king,  and  said, 

With  half  triumphant  mein, 

'  True,  strongly  grows  the  pale-face  tree, 

*  Its  boughs  are  fresh  and  green ; 
1  But  I  have  found  a  secret  fire, 

*  That  will  at  my  bidding  go, 

1  And,  creeping  through  the  pale-face  tree, 
'  Lay  its  tall  branches  low. 

*  My  priest  a  subtle  poison  keeps, 

*  From  deadly  weeds  distill'd  ; 

11 


122  POWHATAN. 

'  A  single  drop,  where  the  red-deer  feeds, 
'  A  red-deer  oft  has  kill'd. 

*  Rich  venison  and  wild  fowls,  imbued 

*  With  this  dark  drug,  have  gone 

*  To  feed  the  famish'd  pale-face  foe, 
'  A  present  to  Sir  John. 

*  And  ere  to-morrow's  noonday  hour 

*  They'll  droop,  and  fade,  and  die, 

*  And  strew  the  ground,  like  autumn  leaves 

*  When  the  storm-god  passes  by. 

*  The  breeze  all  day  across  the  land 

*  Shall  bear  their  dying  groans, 

*  And  the  river-god  shall  many  a  year 

*  Behold  their  whitening  bones/ 

V. 

He  paused  and  look'd  at  Powhatan 
For  some  approving  word ; 
But  a  bitter  sigh  from  Metoka 
Was  the  only  sound  he  heard. 

*  If  it  is  done,  then  be  it  so,' 
The  monarch  said,  at  last ; 

*  Though  rather  would  I  see  them  fall 

*  By  the  spirit's  lightning  blast ; 

*  Or  that  our  arms  in  open  fight 
« Might  hurl  the  deadly  blow, 

*  And  show  them  Powhatan  has  power 


CANTO    SIXTH.  123 

*  To  conquer  any  foe. 

'  But  if  the  deed  is  done,  'tis  well — 

*  The  agent  or  the  hour 

« "We  will  not  question,  if  it  serve 

*  To  crush  their  growing  power. 

'  Come,  let  us  to  the  lodge  retire  ; 

*  Thou'lt  rest  with  us  to-night : 

*  The  clouds  rise  dark ;  the  lightning  fires 

*  Flash  with  a  fiercer  light/ 

Now  sitting  in  the  lodge,  they  talk 

Of  their  mighty  pale-face  foe : 

Pamunky  broods  with  secret  joy 

Upon  the  impending  blow ; 

But  Powhatan  walks  up  and  down 

With  sadness  in  his  eye ; 

For  though  it  was  his  settled  will 

The  pale-face  foe  should  die, 

Yet  still  he  feels  'twould  better  suit 

His  prowess  and  his  pride, 

If  warriors'  arms  in  the  battle-field 

The  deadly  strife  had  tried. 

VI. 

And  now  all  silent  in  the  lodge, 

The  chiefs  are  both  at  rest ; 

But,  oh !  what  wild  and  harrowing  thoughts 

Fair  Metoka  oppress'd. 


124  POWHATAN. 

She  loved  her  sire,  she  loved  his  land : 
She  loved  them  as  her  life — 
What  feeling  in  her  heart  is  now 
With  that  pure  love  at  strife  ? 
'Tis  pity,  pleading  for  the  lives 
Of  those  who  soon  must  fall — 
It  pleadeth  with  an  angel's  voice, 
And  loud  as  a  trumpet-call. 
Mayhap  another  feeling  too 
Its  secret  influence  wrought 
In  her  pure  heart ;  but  if  'twere  so, 
She  understood  it  not — 

.  , 

But  true  it  was,  that  since  Sir  John 

First  pass'd  before  her  sight, 

Something  was  twining  round  her  heart ; 

She  felt  it  day  and  night. 

Her  heart  is  sad,  her  bosom  bleeds 

For  the  cruel  fate  of  those, 

In  whom  she  knows  no  crime  or  fault, 

Nor  can  she  deem  them  foes. 

Alone  and  restless  she  looks  out 

Upon  the  fearful  night ; 

The  warring  elements  are  there, 

The  lightning  fires  gleam  bright ; 

She  hears  the  muttering  thunders  growl 

Along  the  distant  hills, 

And  many  a  pause  the  thunders  make 


, 

CANTO    SIXTH.  125 

The  wolves'  wild  howling  fills. 

The  awful  clouds  roll  high  and  dark, 

The  winds  have  a  roaring  sound, 

The  branches  from  stout  trees  are  torn 

And  hurl'd  upon  the  ground ; 

And  now  the  rain  in  torrents  falls — 

How  her  feeble  limbs  do  shake ! 

Such  gloom  without,  such  grief  within, 

Her  young  heart  sure  must  break. 

VII. 

But  Jamestown's  death-devoted  sons 
In  conscious  safety  rest ; 
The  natives,  months  before,  had  ceased 
The  pale-face  to  molest ; 
Pamunky's  rich  and  generous  gift 
Their  confidence  increased, 
And  on  the  morrow  all  would  share 
In  joyfulness  their  feast. 
'Tis  now  the  darkest  midnight  hour, 
But  yet  Sir  John  sleeps  not — 
He  listeth  to  the  storm  without ; 
The  rain  beats  down  like  shot 
Against  the  wall  and  on  the  roof; 
The  wind  is  strong  and  high, 
And  bellowing  thunders  burst  and  roll 
Athwart  the  troubled  sky. 
11* 


126  POWHATAN. 

A  moment's  pause — what  sound  is  that  ? 

A  light  tap  at  the  door — 

Can  mortal  be  abroad  to-night  ? 

That  feeble  tap  once  more — 

He  opes  the  door ;  his  dim  light  falls 

Upon  a  slender  form — 

The  monarch's  daughter  standeth  there, 

Like  a  spirit  of  the  storm  ! 

Through  dark  wild  woods,  in  that  fearful  night, 

She  had  peril'd  life  and  limb, 

And  suffer'd  all  but  death  to  bring 

Safety  and  life  to  him. 

And  now,  her  object  gain'd,  she  turns 

In  haste  her  home  to  seek — 

Sir  John  such  strong  emotion  feels, 

At  first  he  scarce  can  speak : 

But  soon  he  urged  her,  while  the  storm 

Was  raging,  to  remain ; 

But  she  with  earnestness  replied, 

*  I  must  not  heed  the  rain.' 

*  But  the  night  is  dark,  the  way  is  rough, 
'  Till  morning  you  must  stay — ' 

With  tears  she  said, '  I  must  return 

*  Before  the  break  of  day.' 

'  Then  I  will  go  with  a  file  of  men 

1  To  guard  you  on  your  way — ' 

But  still  her  eyes  with  tears  were  fill'd, 


CANTO    SIXTH.  127 

And  still  she  answered  nay — 

'  Through  woods  and  rain  to  my  father's  lodge 

*  I  must  return  alone, 

*  And  never  must  my  father  know 

*  The  errand  I  have  done.' 

And  away  she  flew  from  the  cottage  door, 

To  the  forest  wild  again : 

Sir  John  upon  the  darkness  look'd, 

And  listen'd  to  the  rain ; 

And  still  he  look'd  where  the  pathway  lay 

Across  the  distant  field, 

Until  the  lightning's  sudden  flash 

Her  flying  form  reveal'd ; 

And  still  with  sad  and  anxious  thought 

And  moveless  eyes  he  stood, 

Till  he  saw  her  by  another  flash 

Enter  the  midnight  wood.  * 

VIII. 

Day  came  and  went — another  pass'd — 

And  now  a  week  has  gone — 

The  dark-brow'd  chiefs  are  puzzled  much, 

That  the  pale-face  men  live  on. 

Early  and  late  had  Powhatan 

Been  out  on  the  calm  hill-side, 

But  on  the  air  no  death-wail  came 

At  morn  or  eventide : 


128  POWHATAX. 

And  when  his  spies,  returning  home 

From  Jamestown  day  by  day, 

Told  him  the  pale-face  tree  was  green, 

Nor  blight  upon  it  lay, 

The  doubting  monarch  shook  his  head, 

And  on  his  daughter  cast 

A  look  more  chilling  to  her  heart 

Than  winter's  dreary  blast. 

But  not  a  word  the  monarch  spoke ; 

His  thought  he  never  told ; 

Though  she  could  often  in  his  eye 

That  dreadful  glance  behold. 

And  though  in  all  his  troubled  hours 

To  give  him  peace  she  strove, 

And  though  she  tried  all  tender  ways 

To  touch  his  heart  with  love ; 

And  though  sometimes  he  smiled  on  her, 

As  once  he  used  to  smile, 

Yet  in  his  eye  that  cheerless  look 

Was  lurking  all  the  while  ; 

And  Metoka  for  many  a  day 

His  lost  love  did  deplore, 

And  felt  that  her  sweet  peace  of  mind 

Was  gone  forevermore. 

Lonely  and  sad  one  day  she  sat 

In  her  bower  beside  the  spring, 

When  coming  from  the  woods  she  saw 


CANTO    SIXTH.  129 


Approach  Pamunky's  king. 

He  was  her  uncle,  and  though  rough 

To  others  he  might  prove, 

To  Metoka  he  nought  had  shown 

But  tenderness  and  love. 

Then  with  a  sad  confiding  look 

She  towards  Pamunky  ran, 

Who  told  her  he  had  come  to  bring 

Great  news  to  Powhatan ; 

And  straightway  to  the  council-hall 

He  led  her  by  the  hand, 

Where  chiefs  and  warriors  eagerly 

Around  the  monarch  stand, 

In  deep  debate,  devising  means 

To  crush  the  pale-face  race  ; 

But  all,  when  came  Pamunky's  king, 

Stood  back  to  give  him  place. 

IX. 

1  Your  deep  debate/  Pamunky  said, 
'  Ye  may  no  longer  hold, 

*  Nor  longer  fear  our  pale-face  foe ; 
'  His  days  at  last  are  told. 

'  Their  mighty  werowance,  Sir  John, 
1  Who  exercised  such  skill, 

*  That  all  the  poison  of  our  land 
'  Could  not  his  people  kill, 


130  POWHATAN. 

« 

*  His  death- wound  has  received  at  last — 

*  From  their  strange  fire  it  came  ; 

'  That  fire  which  thunders  in  their  hands, 

*  And  burns  with  a  lightning  flame — 

'  That  fire  they  brought  across  the  sea, 

*  To  hunt  us  from  the  earth, 

*  Has  turn'd  on  them  its  serpent  fang, 

*  And  stung  them  to  the  death. 

'  I  saw  Sir  John  with  his  bleeding  wounds, 

*  And  his  muffled  face  and  head, 

*  Creep  slowly  to  their  tall  ship's  deck, 

*  Like  one  that  was  near  dead. 

*  And  away  that  ship  is  sailing  now 

*  Across  the  ocean  wave, 

*  To  carry  Sir  John  to  his  English  isle 

*  To  rest  in  his  English  grave. 

*  And  now  this  land  is  ours  again ; 

*  The  rest  of  the  pale-face  crew 

*  We'll  brush  away  from  our  forest  home, 

*  As  we  brush  the  drops  of  dew.'  ^ 
Great  joy  then  felt  King  Powhatan, 
Great  joy  felt  all  his  men, 

And  wild  and  loud  were  the  shouts  that  made 

Their  forests  ring  again. 

No  more  in  long  suspense  and  fear 

They  lay  like  a  strong  man  bound, 

But  light  and  free,  the  feast  and  song 


CANTO    SIXTH.  131 

Through  all  the  tribes  went  round ; 
And  every  hunter  freely  breathed 
Along  by  the  winding  shore, 
And  warriors  trod  their  native  woods 
In  conscious  pride  once  more. 

X. 

But  where's  the  straggling  colonist, 

Who  came  not  home  last  night  ? 

His  friends  are  out  in  search  of  him 

By  the  earliest  morning  light. 

At  last  away  in  a  lonely  spot, 

His  bleeding  corpse  is  found ; 

His  scalp  is  off,  and  his  gory  head 

Lies  weltering  on  the  ground. 

His  wife  in  yonder  graveyard  sleeps : 

She  long  before  had  died ; 

They  feel  it  were  a  pious  act 

To  place  him  by  her  side ; 

And  slow  they  bear  the  corse  along 

Where  the  homeward  pathway  leads, 

But  a  deadly  arrow  cleaves  the  air, 

And  another  victim  bleeds. 

They  see  no  foe,  they  hear  no  sound, 

But  they  know  that  death  is  nigh ; 

They  fly,  and  leave  the  death-stricken  one 

Alone  with  the  dead  to  die. 


132  POWHATAX. 

XL 

Now  deep  the  sorrow,  pale  the  fear, 

That  fell  on  Jamestown's  sons ; 

New  forts  are  built,  their  swords  new  sharp'd, 

And  loaded  are  their  guns ; 

And  all  their  homes  are  picketed, 

And  all  their  doors  are  barr'd, 

And  fifty  men  with  loaded  arms 

By  day  and  night  keep  guard. 

And  now  they  sadly  wish  Sir  John 

Were  there  again  to  throw 

The  terror  of  his  valiant  arm 

Around  their  savage  foe. 

But  where  they  could,  and  where  they  must, 

They  still  their  labor  plied, 

And  in  the  field  the  farmer  toiFd 

With  musket  by  his  side. 

Oh,  these  were  sad  and  fearful  days  ; 

Death  lurk'd  in  every  sound  ; 

And  English  blood  was  often  spilt 

Like  water  on  the  ground  ; 

And  eagerly  revenge  and  fear 

Watch'd  every  dark  wood-side, 

And  the  sound  of  many  a  musket  shot 

Told  where  an  Indian  died. 


CANTO    SIXTH.  133 

XII. 

Where  rests  the  monarch's  daughter  now  ? 
Can  she  such  scenes  abide  ? 
She's  gone  a  far  and  weary  way, 
To  bright  Potomac's  side. 
The  coldness  of  her  father's  eye 
Has  made  her  eye  grow  dim — 
Sir  John  has  gone  beyond  the  sea, 
And  her  heart  is  gone  with  him  ; 
And  the  sound  of  war,  and  the  sight  of  blood, 
That  stain'd  her  native  wild, 
Have  thrown  a  gloom  on  the  weary  life 
Of  the  fair  and  gentle  child. 
She  could  not  rest  in  her  father's  lodge, 
Nor  bide  in  her  summer  bower, 
But  wander'd  alone  about  the  woods, 
And  droop'd  like  a  fading  flower. 
The  monarch  watch'd  her  changing  hue 
In  sunshine  and  in  shade, 
And  the  father's  heart  within  him  yearn'd 
When  he  saw  her  beauty  fade. 
For  fifteen  years  her  joyous  heart, 
And  smiling  cheek  and  eye, 
Had  been  the  light  of  the  old  man's  life, 
And  he  could  not  see  her  die 
12 


134  POWHATAN. 

XIII. 

He  call'd  her  to  his  side,  and  said, 
With  kind  and  gentle  tone, 

*  Why  does  my  daughter  weep  all  day, 
1  And  wander  thus  alone  ? 

*  These  days  are  evil  days,  my  child, 
1  But  long  they  will  not  last ; 

4 1  would  thou  hadst  a  safe  retreat 
'  Till  the  raging  storm  be  past. 

*  Potomac's  skies  are  bright  and  blue, 

*  Potomac's  groves  are  green, 

*  And  brightly  roll  Potomac's  waves 

*  Her  lovely  banks  between ; 

*  And  gladly  would  King  Japazaws 

*  All  friendly  rites  extend 

*  To  the  daughter  of  King  Powhatan, 
4  His  sovereign  and  his  friend. 

*  Then  go,  my  child,  and  rest  awhile 

*  On  fair  Potomac's  side  ; 

4  There  will  thy  days  glide  gently  on, 

*  As  the  peaceful  waters  glide ; 

*  And  there  young  health  will  come  again 

*  And  kiss  thy  fading  cheek, 

*  And  in  thy  cheerful  voice  once  more 

*  Thy  mother's  soul  will  speak. 

4  No  sound  of  war  will  there  disturb 

*  Thy  silent  rest  at  night, 


CANTO    SIXTH.  135 

*  Nor  wilt  thou  wake  to  the  sight  of  blood 

*  When  comes  the  morning  light. 

*  And  when  from  our  dark-shadoVd  land 

*  The  clouds  shall  all  pass  o'er, 

*  And  all  these  strange  and  dreadful  foes 

*  Are  driven  from  our  shore, 

*  Thou'lt  come  again,  all  life  and  love, 

*  In  thy  father's  lodge  to  rest, 

*  And  the  closing  days  of  Powhatan 
«  Will  yet  be  bright  and  blest.' 
Thus  spoke  the  monarch,  and  away 
His  gentle  child  has  gone, 

A  weary  way  through  pathless  woods, 

Like  a  lost  and  lonely  fawn  ; 

And  now,  a  sweet  transplanted  flower, 

She  breathes  the  balmy  air 

On  fair  Potomac's  sunny  banks, 

And  sheds  her  fragrance  there. 


END  OF  CANTO  SIXTH. 


CANTO   SEVENTH. 


t 

STILL  far  along  the  winding  James 
War's  muttering  thunders  ran, 
And  dark  and  gloomy  clouds  hung  round 
The  hills  of  Powhatan ; 
And,  as  the  storm  more  threatening  seem'd, 
The  savage  fiercer  grew, 
And  thick  around  the  settlements 
His  hurtling  arrows  flew. 
As  Powhatan  in  council  sat 
Among  his  warriors  brave, 
And  for  the  coming  night's  campaign 
His  bloody  orders  gave, 
Old  Japazaws,  who  came  not  there 
For  many  months  before, 
With  hurrying  step  and  haggard  look 
Came  tottering  to  the  door. 
Each  voice  was  hush'd,  and  every  eye 
Look'd  anxiously  about, 
12* 


138  POWHATAN. 

For  well  they  knew  no  light  affair 
Had  brought  the  old  chief  out. 

II. 

*  Speak,  Japazaws,'  with  sadden'd  tone, 
The  anxious  monarch  said ; 

*  Another  cloud  of  blackness  now 
'  Is  settling  o'er  my  head — 

*  Soon  as  I  saw  thy  steps  approach, 

*  I  felt  it  in  the  air, 

'  I  felt  it  in  my  aching  heart, 

*  I  felt  it  every  where. 

*  I  see  it  now  in  thy  speaking  eye, 

*  So  sorrowful  and  wild — 

*  Speak  out  thy  thoughts,  and  tell  what  blight 
'  Has  come  upon  my  child.' 

„, 

'  Oh,  sad  the  tale  I  have  to  tell/ 

The  trembling  chief  replied, 

'  And  gladly  to  have  saved  thy  child, 

*  Would  Japazaws  have  died. 

*  Like  a  beam  of  light  fair  Metoka 

*  Went  dancing  through  our  grove, 

*  Her  voice  was  like  the  nightingale, 

*  Her  spirit  like  the  dove, 

*  And  every  thing  was  happier, 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  139 

*  On  which  her  brightness  shone ; 

*  Such  innocence  and  love  were  hers, 

*  We  loved  her  as  our  own. 

*  But,  oh,  the  cruel  pale-face  came, 

*  In  his  shallop  dark  and  tall, 

'  And  he  seized  her  on  the  river  bank — 

*  We  heard  her  feeble  call, 

'  And  ran  to  rescue,  but  in  vain ; 

*  They  bore  her  from  the  shore, 
'  Away,  away,  and  much  I  fear 

*  Thou'lt  never  see  her  more.'  * 

IV. 

The  aged  monarch  bow'd  his  head 

In  bitterness  of  wo ; 

In  all  his  long  eventful  life 

This  was  the  deadliest  blow. 

In  manhood's  prime  he  had  look'd  on 

And  seen  his  kindred  die, 

Without  one  muscle  quivering, 

Without  one  tear  or  sigh, 

Two  generations  he  had  seen 

Swept  from  his  wide  domain ; 

And  war,  and  peace,  and  lapse  of  years, 

Had  battled  him  in  vain ; 

But  when  this  last,  this  brightest  hope 

Was  torn  from  him  apart, 


140  POWHATAN. 

It  shook  the  strength  of  his  iron  frame, 

And  pierced  him  to  the  heart. 

The  eyes  of  his  fierce  warriors  glow'd 

And  flash'd  with  living  fire  ; 

And  leave  to  fly  and  leave  to  fight 

Is  all  they  now  require. 

Pamunky  rises  in  his  might, 

His  voice  is  loud  and  high — 

'  This  instant  let  us  seek  the  foe, 

*  And  cut  him  down  or  die.' 

Like  an  angry  tiger,  Nantaquas 

Sends  fiery  glances  round, 

And  clutching  his  huge  war-club,  growls, 

And  fiercely  beats  the  ground ; 

And  a  hundred  warriors  seize  their  arms 

And  foam  like  a  raging  flood ; 

And  a  hundred  voices  cry  with  thirst 

For  a  taste  of  English  blood. 

But  while  they  raged  with  furious  heat, 

And  long'd  for  the  coming  fight, 

A  swiftly  flying  messenger 

From  the  forest  came  in  sight. 

Twas  faithful  Rawhunt — six  long  days 

At  Jamestown  he  had  been, 

A  captive  in  the  picket  fort — 

How  came  he  free  again  ? 

He  rushes  to  the  council-hall 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  141 

And  stands  before  the  king, 

And  listening  warriors  bend  to  hear 

What  tidings  he  may  bring. 

V. 

*  O,  sire/  the  faithful  servant  said, 
« Would  that  the  pale-face  foe 

*  Had  sent  his  lightning  through  the  heart 

*  Of  Rawhunt  long  ago ; 

*  Then  had  I  never  lived  to  see 

*  The  sorrow  and  distress 

*  Of  that  sweet  child,  whose  life  has  been 

*  All  love  and  tenderness. 

*  They  led  her  to  the  inner  fort — 

*  I  saw  her  as  she  pass'd ; 

*  Her  head  was  bent  like  a  dying  flower, 

*  And  her  tears  were  falling  fast. 

*  And  then  their  council  bade  me  bear 

*  This  message  to  my  king, 

*  And  ere  the  setting  sun  goes  down 
'  His  answer  back  to  bring. 

*  The  pale- face  now,  of  Powhatan, 
'  Demands  that  war  shall  cease, 

'  And  holds  his  daughter  as  a  pledge 

*  That  he  will  live  at  peace  ; 

*  But  if  another  white  man  falls, 

*  Or  a  drop  of  blood  is  shed, 


142  POWHATAN. 

*  That  instant  shall  the  monarch's  child 

*  Sleep  with  the  sleeping  dead. 

*  Twelve  circling  moons  a  captive  bound 

*  Must  Metoka  remain, 

*  And  if  good  faith  be  kept  till  then, 

*  She  shall  be  free  again. 

*  And  more  than  this,  great  Powhatan 

*  His  royal  word  must  give 

*  To  keep  the  truce,  if  he  would  have 

*  His  daughter  longer  live  ; 

*  And  I  must  fly  with  the  monarch's  pledge, 

*  As  swift  as  the  eagle  flies, 

*  For  if  the  pledge  come  not  to-night, 

*  This  night  his  daughter  dies.9 

He  ceased,  and  silence  filPd  the  hall, 
Like  midnight  deep  and  still ; 
All  eyes  were  bent  on  Powhatan, 
Waiting  the  monarch's  will. 

VI. 

Then  slowly  look'd  the  old  chief  round ; 
In  his  eye  a  strange  light  shone, 
And  slowly  these  brief  words  he  spoke 
In  a  strange  and  solemn  tone. 

*  The  Spirit  wills  it — we  must  yield — 

*  For  vain  the  power  of  man 

*  To  strive  against  the  Spirit's  power : 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  143 

*  Gladly  would  Powhatan, 

*  Alone,  unaided,  meet  the  foe, 

*  And  all  his  host  defy — 

*  But  the  Spirit  wills  it — we  must  yield — 

*  That  daughter  must  not  die.9 
Fair  wampum-belts  of  shining  hue 
Were  hanging  on  the  wall ; 

The  monarch  took  from  its  resting-place 

The  richest  one  of  all ; 

And  placing  it  on  Rawhunt's  arm, 

He  bade  him  speed  his  flight, 

And  bear  it  to  the  pale-face  chiefs 

Ere  fall  the  shades  of  night ; 

And  tell  them, '  Powhatan  accepts 

*  The  proffer  they  have  made : 

« If  they  are  faithful  to  the  truce, 
4  Twill  be  by  him  obey'd.' 
Swiftly  the  faithful  Rawhunt  flew 
Away  through  the  distant  wood ; 
But  the  monarch  still  among  his  chiefs 
Like  a  solemn  statue  stood. 
At  last,  with  sadden'd  look  and  tone, 
The  chiefs  he  thus  address'd : 
'  The  old  tree  cannot  always  last ; 

*  The  monarch  needeth  rest. 

*  While  twelve  fair  moons  in  quietness 

*  Shall  run  their  circling  round, 


144  POWHATAN. 

'  No  war-whoop  will  awake  the  woods, 

*  No  blood  will  stain  the  ground. 
'  Till  then,  to  a  solitary  lodge 

'  Will  Powhatan  depart, 

*  And  rest  his  head  from  weary  cares, 
'  And  rest  his  weary  heart. 

*  Meantime  let  brave  Pamunky's  king 

*  Our  sovereign  sceptre  sway, 

*  And  him,  instead  of  Powhatan, 

*  Let  all  the  tribes  obey/ 

He  said — and  slowly  round  the  hall 

A  sober  look  he  cast ; 

A  lingering,  doubting,  troubled  look, 

As  though  it  were  the  last ; 

And  taking  up  his  bow  and  club, 

That  lean'd  against  the  wall, 

The  monarch  turn'd  with  stately  step 

And  left  the  silent  hall. 

VII. 

Far  up  the  Chickahominy 

The  banks  are  green  and  fair, 

And  through  the  groves  of  Orapakes 

There  breathes  a  balmy  air ; 

And  there  beneath  tall  shady  trees 

A  quiet  lodge  is  found ; 

Bright  birds  are  darting  through  the  boughs 


CANTO     SEVENTH.  145 

And  hopping  on  the  ground ; 

Refreshing  waters  from  the  hills 

Through  groves  and  valleys  glide ; 

And  gentle  deer  come  down  to  drink 

By  the  cool  river-side ; 

And  there  among  the  stout  old  trees, 

From  toil  and  conflict  free, 

The  aged  monarch  moves  about, 

And  muses  silently. 

He  sighs  to  think  of  his  distant  child 

At  night  on  his  bed  of  fur : 

And  if  he  sleep  in  the  lonely  hours, 

'Tis  but  to  dream  of  her. 

And  he  thinks  of  her  in  his  sunny  walks, 

With  the  sportive  deer  about, 

And  he  thinks  of  her  by  the  bending  brook 

Where  glides  the  golden  trout 

VIIL 

Long  time  had  Opechancanough 
A  burning  hatred  borne 
Against  the  pale-face,  who  had  caused 
His  native  land  to  mourn. 
Sir  John  had  led  him  by  the  hair,  ^ 
With  pistol  at  his  breast ; 
The  rankling  thought  was  a  raging  fire, 
That  never  let  him  rest. 
13 


146  POWHATAN. 

And  the  insult  offer'd  to  his  god 

He  never  could  forget, 

Till  the  sun  of  this  whole  hated  race 

In  night  and  blood  should  set. 

Sage  Powhatan  knew  well  the  power 

The  English  arms  possess'd, 

And  made  his  warriors  keep  aloof, 

And  their  rash  fire  repressed. 

But  now  Pamunky  is  the  chief, 

Whom  all  the  tribes  obey, 

And  vengeance  its  hot  strife  for  blood 

No  longer  will  delay. 

He  boldly  goes  to  the  white  man's  lodge, 

And  talks  of  friendship's  chain, 

And  tells  how  strong  and  bright  it  is, 

And  long  shall  so  remain ; 

And  all  unarm'd  his  warriors  roam 

The  colonists  among, 

And  words  of  peace  and  kindness  flow 

From  every  Indian  tongue. 

But  in  his  deep  and  gloomy  wilds, 

Where  white  man  never  came, 

He  breathed  into  his  warriors'  hearts 

His  bosom's  burning  flame. 

And  round  and  round,  from  tribe  to  tribe, 

Through  many  a  summer's  night, 

He  whisper'd  dark  words  in  their  ears 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  147 

Beneath  the  dim  starlight : 

And  a  thousand  times  those  muttered  words 

In  his  low  breath  were  said, 

And  a  thousand  hearts  their  secret  kept, 

As  voiceless  as  the  dead. 

He  bade  them  think  of  Powhatan, 

An  exile  sad  and  lone  ; 

And  the  pleasant  light  of  that  lovely  star 

That  once  among  them  shone ; 

He  bade  them  think  of  Okee's  wrongs 

Received  from  the  pale-face  crew ; 

And  the  deadly  shade  that  the  pale-face  tree 

Far  over  the  land  now  threw. 

The  secret  fire  is  kindling  well ; 

A  thousand  hearts  are  strong, 

And  a  thousand  eager  warriors  wait 

To  avenge  their  country's  wrong. 

IX. 

The  day  of  blood  arrives  at  last, 

When  vengeance  shall  be  hurl'd 

On  every  pale-face  in  the  land, 

And  sweep  him  from  the  world. 

Through  the  silent  night,  in  the  upland  groves, 

And  down  by  the  murky  fen, 

And  deep  in  the  solitary  wood, 

There's  a  mustering  of  men — 


148  POWHATAN. 

Old  Chesapeake  sends  forth  the  tribes 

That  live  along  the  shore  ; 

Potomac's  warriors,  arm'd  for  death, 

Are  on  the  march  once  more ; 

Fierce  Kecoughtans  and  Nansamonds 

Creep  noiselessly  along ; 

Pamunky's  valiant  tribe  sends  out 

A  band  five  hundred  strong ; 

And  a  hundred  silent  winding  streams, 

By  the  twinkling  stars'  dim  light, 

Beheld  dark  warriors  whispering 

Along  their  banks  that  night. 

Each  band  knew  well  its  pathless  route 

In  darkness  or  in  day : 

Each  had  its  several  task  assign'd, 

And  panted  for  its  prey. 

They  came  where  the  outer  settlements 

Were  skirted  by  the  wood, 

And  waiting  for  the  appointed  hour, 

In  breathless  silence  stood. 

The  gray  tops  of  the  cottages 

Gleam'd  in  the  misty  air ; 

They  look'd  and  listen'd  eagerly— 

No  light,  no  sound  was  there. 

No  watchful  guards  with  loaded  arms 

In  field  or  fort  appear ; 

There  lay  the  slumbering  colony 

Without  defence  or  fear. 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  149 

X. 

The  morning-star  is  in  the  sky— « 

The  signal  word  is  given, 

And  a  hundred  blazing  torches  flash 

In  the  starry  vault  of  heaven ; 

And  from  a  hundred  blazing  homes 

Rings  out  a  piercing  cry, 

As  the  sleeper  wakes,  and  the  flames  of  death 

Glare  on  his  waking  eye. 

But  a  wilder  scream,  a  fiendish  yell, 

Comes  back  to  his  ear  again, 

As  he  rushes  out,  and  a  savage  blow 

Has  crush'd  him  to  the  plain. 

When  morning  came,  the  sun  look*d  down 

Where  many  a  cottage  stood ; 

But  he  only  saw  black  smouldering  heaps, 

And  fields  that  smoked  with  blood.  ^ 

In  all  the  outer  settlements 

The  work  of  death  was  o'er, 

And  full  three  hundred  colonists 

Lay  weltering  in  their  gore. 

XL 

But  Jamestown  show'd  another  sight 
To  that  bright  morning  sun— * 
Three  hundred  hostile  men  stood  there, 
All  arm'd  with  sword  and  gun, 
13* 


150  POWHATAN. 

And  breathing  out  a  stern  resolve 

To  hunt  the  savage  race, 

"With  fire  and  sword  and  ceaseless  war, 

Till  not  a  single  trace 

Of  all  the  tribes  of  Powhatan 

Should  in  the  land  be  seen, 

To  cry  for  blood,  or  tell  the  world 

That  such  a  race  had  been. 

How  these  were  saved  from  blood  and  death 

On  that  red  night  of  wo, 

The  Indian  never  knew,  and  now 

It  matters  not  to  know. 

Enough,  that  timely  warning  came 

For  them  to  up  and  arm ; 

That  when  the  gleam  of  the  Indian  torch 

Flash'd  out  its  first  alarm, 

A  dozen  muskets  blazed  at  once, 

And  torch  and  bearer  fell, 

And  the  foe  fled  swift  when  he  heard  the  roar 

Through  the  echoing  forest  swell. 

XII. 

Henceforth  the  course  of  war  is  changed — 

In  one  devoted  band 

The  desperate  colonists  march  forth 

In  arms  to  scour  the  land ; 

And  the  flying  savage,  looking  back 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  151 

From  the  hill-top,  often  sees 

The  flames  of  his  burning  lodge  dart  up 

Above  the  forest  trees. 

The  blood  of  old  and  young  alike 

Is  pour'd  upon  the  plains, 

And  through  the  realm  of  Powhatan 

Wide  desolation  reigns. 

Like  hunted  deer  through  grove  and  glen 

The  bleeding  victims  die, 

And  villages  by  the  river  banks 

In  smoking  ruins  lie. 

At  last  the  broken,  flying  tribes 

In  many  a  rallying  band, 

Meet  round  the  home  of  Powhatan 

For  one  more  desperate  stand. 

And  here  an  oath  each  warrior  swears, 

To  fall— if  he  must  fall — 

With  face  to  the  foe,  and  hand  to  his  bow, 

And  his  back  to  the  council-hall. 

XIII. 

The  fearful  battle  soon  grows  warm 
Between  the  opposing  foes — 
Three  hundred  muskets  in  the  field 
Against  three  thousand  bows. 
And  thickly  flew  with  deadly  aim 
The  Indian  arrows  then ; 


152  POWHATAN. 

But  where  one  man  by  an  arrow  fell, 

The  musket  slaughter'd  ten. 

Pamunky,  wounded,  leaves  the  field, 

Stout  Nantaquas  is  slain, 

And  many  a  brave  and  valiant  chief 

Lies  stretch'd  upon  the  plain ; 

But  still  the  battle  fiercer  grows 

Till  near  the  close  of  day, 

And  neither  side  the  victory  gains, 

And  neither  side  gives  way. 

And  now  with  sword  and  bayonet, 

Their  ammunition  gone, 

With  firmness  toward  the  faltering  foe 

The  colonists  press  on, 

And  hand  to  hand,  and  foot  to  foot, 

Their  deadly  weapons  ply — 

The  white  man  takes  the  ground  at  last, 

The  Indians  fall  or  fly. 

XIV. 

That  instant,  bounding  from  the  wood, 

A  furious  warrior  came  ; 

His  weapon  was  a  huge  war-club, 

His  eye  a  living  flame — 

And  as  he  rush'd  to  the  battle-field 

He  shouted  with  his  might — 

The  old  woods  leapt  at  the  well-known  sound, 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  153 

As  if  they  felt  delight. 

He  paused  a  moment  to  survey 

The  dying  and  the  dead : 

His  fallen  warriors  strewM  the  ground ; 

The  living  few  had  fled ; 

And  now  before  the  conquering  foe 

There  stood  but  a  single  man — 

But  fierce  the  conflict  yet  must  rage, 

For  he  was  Powhatan. 

The  monarch's  back  to  mortal  foe 

Had  never  yet  been  given, 

And,  come  what  will,  he  meets  it  now 

In  the  face  of  earth  and  heaven. 

Swinging  his  knotted  war-club  high, 

To  the  thickest  ranks  he  press'd, 

Where  fifty  swords  and  bayonets 

Were  pointed  to  his  breast, 

And  up  and  down,  this  way  and  that, 

His  ponderous  weapon  threw, 

And  broken  muskets  strew'd  the  ground, 

And  swords  like  feathers  flew. 

In  vain  the  rallying  forces  came 

To  aid  the  falling  band ; 

Numbers,  nor  arms,  nor  courage  could 

The  monarch's  rage  withstand. 

At  last,  pale-faces  in  their  turn 

To  the  sheltering  forest  fly, 


154  POWHATAN. 

Nor  longer  hold  the  king  at  bay, 
For,  they  that  linger,  die. 

XV. 

The  aged  monarch  stood  alone, 

By  his  council-hall  again ; 

The  unbending  monarch,  unsubdued, 

King  of  his  bloody  plain. 

But  what  was  that  red  plain  to  him  ? 

His  groves  ?  his  country  ?  all  ? 

In  his  lodge  there  were  no  loved  ones  now, 

No  voice  in  his  council-hall. 

The  old  man's  heart  was  desolate — 

His  warriors  all  were  dead ; 

He  knew  the  pale-face  tree  had  root, 

And  far  and  wide  would  spread. 

And  sadly  toward  the  western  sky 

He  turn'd  his  weary  eyes, 

Where  mountains  blue  are  dimly  seen, 

And  the  land  of  spirits  lies ; 

And  he  thought,  could  he  lay  his  aged  bones 

In  that  peaceful  land  to  rest, 

Where  the  pale-face  foe  could  never  come, 

The  red  man  to  molest ; 

Where  his  gather'd  tribes  might  hunt  the  deer 

Through  the  forest  wilds  again, 

And  plant  their  corn  in  peace  once  more 


CANTO    SEVENTH.  155 

Upon  the  sunny  plain ; 

And  where  by  the  shadowy  mountain's  brow, 

He  in  his  quiet  cot 

His  wife  and  children  might  behold, 

'Twould  be  a  blessed  lot ; 

And  casting  one  long,  painful  look 

On  his  lost  land  and  home, 

Ere  through  the  western  wilds  afar 

A  pilgrim  he  should  roam, 

He  took  his  war-club  for  a  staff, 

And  his  footsteps  westward  turn'd, 

And  sought  for  rest  in  the  far-off  land, 

Where  the  ruddy  sunset  burn'd. 


END  OF  THE   LAST   CANTO. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1 — CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  I. 

Far  in  their  mountain  lurking-place 
The  Mandkins  had  heard  his  fame, 
And  Manahocks  dared  not  come  down 
His  valleys  to  pursue  their  game. 

The  Manakins  and  Manahocs,  or  Manahoacs,  dwelt  in 
the  hilly  country  above  the  falls  of  the  great  rivers  which 
empty  into  Chesapeake  Bay ;  while  the  dominion  of  Pow- 
hatan  extended  over  the  whole  of  the  flat  country  below  the 
falls.  The  Manakins  dwelt  on  the  head  waters  of  the 
James  River,  and  the  Manahocs  on  the  head  waters  of  the 
Potomac  and  Rappahannock.  They  were  subdivided  into 
several  nations  or  tribes,  and  formed  a  sort  of  league  or 
confederacy  of  the  upland  and  mountain  Indians  against  the 
power  and  tyranny  of  Powhatan.  The  Manakins  consisted 
of  four  or  five  tribes,  and  the  Manahocs  of  eight,  and  the 
whole,  being  combined  in  firm  league  against  the  empire 
of  Powhatan,  must  have  constituted  rather  a  formidable  foe. 

14 


158  NOTES. 

NOTE  2— CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  I. 

And  Susquehannah's  giant  race. 

This  powerful  tribe,  dwelling  along  the  valley  of  the 
Susquehannah,  bearing  the  name  of  that  noble  stream,  and 
commanding  its  waters  even  to  the  head  of  Chesapeake 
Bay,  is  represented  by  the  early  adventurers  in  Virginia  to 
have  been  a  race  of  gigantic  stature.  The  romantic  spirit 
of  Captain  Smith,  delighting  as  he  did  in  the  marvellous, 
probably  may  have  given  some  coloring  to  his  descriptions 
in  matters  of  mere  opinion,  but  where  he  describes  facta 
that  came  within  his  knowledge,  his  truth  and  candor  may 
always  be  relied  upon.  He  says,  "  Such  great  and  well- 
proportioned  men  are  seldom  seen ;  for  they  seemed  like 
giants  to  the  English,  yea,  and  to  the  neighbors,  yet  seemed 
of  an  honest  and  simple  disposition,  with  much  ado  restrain- 
ed from  adoring  us  as  gods." 

The  following  curious  account  of  this  tribe  is  from  the 
grave  and  matter-of-fact  historian  Stith ;  borrowed  how- 
ever principally  from  Smith. 

"  Their  language  and  attire  were  very  suitable  to  their 
stature  and  appearance.  For  their  language  sounded  deep 
and  solemn,  and  hollow,  like  a  voice  in  a  vault.  Their  at- 
tire was  the  skins  of  bears  and  wolves,  so  cut  that  the 
man's  head  went  through  the  neck,  and  the  ears  of  the  bear 
were  fastened  on  his  shoulders,  while  the  nose  and  teeth 
hung  dangling  down  upon  his  breast.  Behind,  was  another 
bear's  face  split,  with  a  paw  hanging  at  the  nose.  And 
their  sleeves  coming  down  to  their  elbows,  were  the  necks 


NOTES.  159 

of  bears,  with  their  arms  going  through  the  mouth,  and 
paws  hanging  to  the  nose.  One  had  the  head  of  a  wolf, 
hanging  to  a  chain,  for  a  jewel ;  and  his  tobacco  pipe  was 
three-quarters  of  a  yard  long,  carved  with  a  bird,  a  deer, 
and  other  devices  at  the  great  end,  which  was  sufficient  to 
beat  out  a  man's  brains.  They  measured  the  calf  of  the 
largest  man's  leg,  and  found  it  three-quarters  of  a  yard 
about,  and  all  the  rest  of  his  limbs  were  in  proportion ;  so 
that  he  seemed  the  stateliest  and  most  goodly  personage 
they  had  ever  beheld.  His  arrows  were  three-quarters  long, 
headed  with  splinters  of  a  white  crystal-like  stone,  in  the 
form  of  a  heart,  an  inch  broad,  and  an  inch  and  a  half  long. 
These  he  carried  at  his  back,  in  a  wolf's  skin  for  a  quiver, 
with  his  bow  in  one  hand  and  his  club  in  the  other." 


NOTE  3 CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  I. 

And  thirty  tribes  one  monarch  lless'd. 
"  He  had  under  him  thirty  werowances,  or  inferior  kings, 
who  had  power  of  life  and  death,  but  were  bound  to  govern 
according  to  the  customs  of  the  country." — Stith's  Virginia. 

All  accounts  agree  that  Powhatan  had  under  his  domin- 
ion thirty  tribes,  and  some  of  our  chronicles  locate  them  as 
follows.  Ten  tribes  between  the  Potomac  and  Rappahan- 
nock,  five  between  the  Rappahannock  and  York,  eight  be- 
tween the  York  and  James,  five  between  the  James  River 
and  the  borders  of  Carolina,  and  two  on  the  eastern  shore 
of  Chesapeake  Bay. 


160  NOTES. 

NOTE  4 CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  III. 

Deep  in  a  sea  of  waving  wood 
The  monarch's  rustic  lodge  was  seen, 
Where  brightly  rolVd  the  river  down. 
And  gently  sloped  the  banks  of  green. 

Powhatan's  principal  place  of  residence  at  the  time  of  the 
arrival  of  the  English,  was  on  the  James  River,  a  little  be- 
low the  spot  where  Richmond  now  stands.  He  resided, 
however,  a  part  of  the  time  at  Werowocomoco,  on  York 
River,  about  ten  or  a  dozen  miles  from  Jamestown ;  and  a 
part  of  the  time  at  Orapakes,  up  the  river  Chickahominy. 

NOTE  5— CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  VIII. 
His  plume  is  a  raven  wing. 

"  Some  on  their  heads  wear  the  wing  of  a  bird,  or  some 
large  feather  with  a  rattel.  Those  rattels  are  somewhat 
like  the  shape  of  a  rapier,  but  lesse,  which  they  take  from 
the  taile  of  a  snake.  Many  have  the  whole  skinne  of  a 
hawke  or  some  strange  foule,  stuffed,  with  the  wings 
abroad." — Smith's  History  of  Virginia. 

NOTE  6 CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  XIII. 

And  Madoc  and  his  host  were  withered  from  the  world. 

"  The  chronicles  of  Wales  report,  that  Madoc,  sonne  to 

Owen  Quineth,  Prince  of  Wales,  seeing  his  two  brethren 

at  debate,  who  should  inherit,  prepared  certaine  ships,  with 

men  and  munition,  and  left  his  country  to  seeke  adventures 


NOTES.  161 

by  sea.  Leaving  Ireland  north,  he  sayled  west  till  he  came 
to  a  land  unknowne.  Returning  home  and  relating  what 
pleasant  and  fruitful  countries  he  had  scene  without  inhabit- 
ants,  and  for  what  barren  land  his  brethren  and  kindred  did 
murther  one  another,  he  provided  a  number  of  ships,  and 
got  with  him  such  men  and  women  as  were  desirous  to  live 
in  quietnesse,  that  arrived  with  him  in  this  new  land  in  the 
year  1170 ;  left  many  of  his  people  there  and  returned  for 
more.  But  where  this  place  was  no  history  can  show." — 
Captain  John  Smith. 

"  On  the  death  of  Owen  Gwyneth,  king  of  North  Wales, 
A.  D.  1169,  his  children  disputed  the  succession.  Yor- 
werth,  the  elder,  was  set  aside  without  a  struggle,  as  being 
incapacitated  by  a  blemish  in  his  face.  Hoel  obtained  pos- 
session of  the  throne  for  awhile,  till  he  was  defeated  and 
slain  by  David,  the  eldest  son  of  the  late  king  by  a  second 
wife.  The  conqueror,  who  then  succeeded  without  opposi- 
tion, slew  Yorwerth,  imprisoned  Rodri,  and  hunted  others 
of  his  brethren  into  exile.  But  Madoc  meantime  abandon- 
ed his  barbarous  country,  and  sailed  away  to  the  west  in 
search  of  some  better  resting-place.  The  land  which  he 
discovered  pleased  him.  He  left  there  part  of  his  people, 
and  went  back  to  Wales  for  a  fresh  supply  of  adventurers, 
with  whom  he  again  set  sail,  and  was  heard  of  no  more." 
— Preface  to  Southey's  Madoc. 

"  Welsh  Indians. — Father  Reichard,  of  Detroit,  from 
whom  I  received  the  facts  just  stated,  informed  me  at  the 
14* 


162  NOTES. 

same  time,  that  in  1793  he  was  told  at  Fort  Chartres,  that 
twelve  years  before,  Capt.  Lord  commanded  this  post,  who 
heard  some  of  the  old  people  observe,  that  Mandan  Indians 
visited  this  post,  and  could  converse  intelligibly  with  some 
Welsh  soldiers  in  the  British  army.  This  is  here  given, 
that  any  person,  who  may  have  the  opportunity,  may  ascer- 
tain whether  there  is  any  affinity  between  the  Mandan  and 
Welsh  languages." — Dr.  Morse's  Indian  Report. 

NOTE  7 CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  XIII. 

Unto  their  pale-face  leader  show 
The  pipe  of  peace  and  warlike  low. 

"  As  they  proceeded  up  the  river,  another  company  of 
Indians  appeared  in  arms.  Their  chief,  Apamatica,  holding 
in  one  hand  his  bow  and  arrows,  and  in  the  other  a  pipe  of 
tobacco,  demanded  the  cause  of  their  coming." — Smith's 
Virginia. 

NOTE  8 CANTO  FIRST,  SECT.  XIV. 

As  round  his  brawny  limbs  he  drew 
His  feathery  mantle,  broad  and  blue. 

"  For  their  apparell  they  are  sometimes  covered  with  the 
skins  of  wild  beasts,  which  in  winter  are  dressed  with  the 
hayre,  but  in  summer  without.  The  better  sort  use  large 
mantels  of  deer  skins,  not  much  differing  in  fashion  from 
the  Irish  mantels.  Some  imbrodered  with  white  beads,  some 
with  copper,  other  painted  after  their  manner. 

"  We  have  seen  some  use  mantels  made  of  turkey  feathers, 


NOTES.  163 

so  prettily  wrought  and  woven  with  threads  that  nothing 
could  be  discerned  but  the  feathers.  That  was  exceeding 
warm  and  very  handsome." — Smith's  History  of  Virginia. 


NOTE  9 CANTO  SECOND,  SECT.  I. 

A  stout  and  trusty  guard  was  placed 
Around  the  lodge,  whose  hands  embraced 
The  battle-axe  or  bended  bow, 
Ready  to  meet  a  coming  foe. 

"  About  his  person  ordinarily  attendeth  a  guard  of  forty 
or  fifty  of  the  tallest  men  his  country  doth  afford.  Every 
night  upon  the  four  quarters  of  his  house  are  four  sentinels, 
each  from  other  a  light  shoot,  and  at  every  half  hour  one 
from  the  corps  du  guard  doth  hollow,  shaking  his  lips  with 
his  finger  betweene  them ;  unto  whom  every  sentinel  doth 
answer  round  from  his  stand.  If  any  faile,  they  presently 
send  forth  an  officer  that  beateth  him  extremely." — Smith's 
Virginia. 


NOTE  10— CANTO  SECOND,  SECT.  VHI. 

Then  through  that  long  and  mystic  reed, 
Emblem  of  many  a  sacred  deed, 
Three  solemn  draughts  the  monarch  drew. 
And  the  smoke  in  three  directions  blew. 

"  When  they  smoke,  the  first  puff  is  upward,  intended  for 
the  Great  Spirit,  as  an  act  of  homage  to  him ;  the  next  is 
to  their  mother  earth,  whence  they  derive  their  corn  and 


164  NOTES. 

other  sustenance ;  the  third  is  horizontal,  expressive  of  their 
good- will  to  their  fellow  men." — Dr.  Morse's  Indian  Re- 
port. 

NOTE  11 CANTO  SECOND,  SECT.  XIII. 

The  voice  of  Powhatan  was  law. 

11  He  nor  any  of  his  people  understand  any  letters  where- 
by to  write  or  read ;  only  the  laws  whereby  he  ruleth  is 
custome.  Yet  when  he  listeth,  his  will  is  a  law  and  must 
be  obeyed.  Not  only  as  a  king,  but  as  half  a  God  they  es- 
teme  him.  His  inferior  kings,  whom  they  call  werowances, 
are  tyed  to  rule  by  customes,  and  have  power  of  life  and 
death  at  their  command  in  that  nature. 

"  They  all  know  their  severall  lands,  and  habitations,  and 
limits,  to  fish,  foule,  or  hunt  in,  but  they  hold  all  of  their 
great  werowance  Powhatan,  unto  whom  they  pay  tribute  of 
skinnes,  beads,  copper,  pearle,  deere,  turkies,  wild  beasts, 
and  come.  What  he  commandeth  they  dare  not  disobey 
in  the  least  thing.  It  is  strange  to  see  with  what  great  fear 
and  adoration  all  these  people  doe  obey  this  Powhatan. 
For  at  his  feete  they  present  whatsoever  he  commandeth, 
and  at  the  least  frown  of  his  brow  their  greatest  spirits  will 
tremble  with  fear :  and  no  marvell,  for  he  is  very  terrible 
and  tyrannous  in  punishing  such  as  offend  him." — Captain 
John  Smith. 


NOTES.  165 

NOTE  12— CANTO  THIRD,  SECT.  HI. 

Of  all  the  knights  of  England, 

That  ever  in  armor  shone, 

The  boldest  and  the  truest  heart 

Was  that  of  brave  Sir  John. 

He  had  pass'd  through  perils  on  the  land, 

And  perils  on  the  sea, 

And  oftentimes  confronted  death 

In  Gaul  and  Germany ; 

And  many  a  Transylvanian 

Could  point  to  the  spot  and  show 

Where  the  boldest  of  the  Turkish  knights 

Were  by  his  hand  laid  low. 

And  when  confined  in  dungeons, 

Or  driven  as  a  slave, 

The  rescue,  that  his  own  arm  brought, 

Proved  well  Sir  John  was  brave. 

The  following  brief  biographical  sketch  of  Capt.  John 
Smith  is  quoted  in  Burk's  Virginia,  as  from  "  a  late  Ameri- 
can biographer ;"  [probably  Belknap.] 

"  He  was  born  at  Willoughby,  in  Lincolnshire  [England] 
in  the  year  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  seventy-nine. 
From  the  first  dawn  of  reason  he  discovered  a  roving  and 
romantic  genius,  and  delighted  in  extravagant  and  daring  ac- 
tions among  his  school-fellows.  When  about  thirteen  years 
of  age,  he  sold  his  books  and  satchel,  and  his  puerile  trink- 
ets, to  raise  money,  with  a  view  to  convey  himself  private- 
ly to  sea ;  but  the  death  of  his  father  put  a  stop  for  the  pre- 
sent to  this  attempt,  and  threw  him  into  the  hands  of  guar- 


166  NOTES. 

dians,  who  endeavored  to  check  the  ardor  of  his  genius,  by 
confining  him  to  a  compting  house.  Being  put  apprentice 
to  a  merchant  at  Lynn,  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  he  at  first  con- 
ceived hopes  that  his  master  would  send  him  to  sea  in  his 
service ;  but  this  hope  failing,  he  quitted  his  master,  and 
with  only  ten  shillings  in  his  pocket,  entered  into  the  train 
of  a  young  nobleman  who  was  travelling  to  France. 

"  At  Orleans  he  was  discharged  from  his  attendance  on 
Lord  Bertie,  and  had  money  given  to  return  to  England. 

"  With  this  money  he  visited  Paris,  and  proceeded  to  the 
Low  Countries,  where  he  enlisted  as  a  soldier,  and  learned 
the  rudiments  of  war,  a  science  peculiarly  agreeable  to  his 
ardent  and  active  genius.  Meeting  with  a  Scots  gentleman 
abroad,  he  was  persuaded  to  pass  into  Scotland,  with  the 
promise  of  being  strongly  recommended  to  King  James. 
But  being  baffled  in  this  expectation,  he  returned  to  his  na- 
tive town,  and  finding  no  company  there,  which  suited  his 
taste,  he  built  a  booth  in  the  wood,  and  betook  himself  to 
the  study  of  military  history  and  tactics,  diverting  himself 
at  intervals  with  his  horse  and  lance ;  in  which  exercises 
he  at  length  found  a  companion,  an  Italian  gentleman,  rider 
to  the  Earl  of  Lincoln,  who  drew  him  from  his  sylvan  re- 
treat  to  Tattersal. 

"  Having  recovered  a  part  of  the  estate  which  his  father 
had  left  him,  he  put  himself  into  a  better  condition  than  be- 
fore, and  set  off  again  on  his  travels,  in  the  winter  of  the 
year  one  thousand  five  hundred  and  ninety-six,  being  then 
only  seventeen  years  of  age.  His  first  stage  was  Flanders, 
where  meeting  with  a  Frenchman,  who  pretended  to  be  heir 


NOTES.  167 

to  a  noble  family,  he  with  his  three  attendants  prevailed 
upon  Smith  to  go  with  them  to  France.  In  a  dark  night 
they  arrived  at  St.  Valory,  in  Picardy,  and  by  the  conni- 
vance of  the  shipmaster,  the  Frenchmen  were  carried 
ashore  with  the  trunks  of  our  young  traveller,  whilst  he 
was  left  on  board  till  the  return  of  the  boat.  In  the  mean 
time  they  had  conveyed  the  baggage  out  of  his  reach,  and 
were  not  to  be  found.  A  sailor  on  board,  who  knew  the 
villains,  generously  undertook  to  conduct  him  to  Mortain, 
where  they  lived,  and  supplied  his  wants  till  their  arrival  at 
the  place.  Here  he  found  their  friends,  from  whom  he 
could  get  no  recompense,  but  the  report  of  his  sufferings 
induced  several  persons  of  distinction  to  invite  him  to  their 
houses. 

"  Eager  to  pursue  his  travels,  and  not  caring  to  receive  fa- 
vors which  he  was  unable  to  requite,  he  left  his  new  friends, 
and  went  from  port  to  port  in  search  of  a  ship  of  war.  In 
one  of  these  rambles  near  Dinan,  it  was  his  chance  to  meet 
one  of  the  villains  who  had  robbed  him.  Without  speak- 
ing a  word,  they  both  drew ;  and  Smith  having  wounded  and 
disarmed  his  antagonist,  obliged  him  to  confess  his  guilt 
before  a  number  of  persons,  who  had  assembled  on  the 
occasion.  Satisfied  with  his  victory,  he  retired  to  the  seat 
of  an  acquaintance,  the  Earl  of  Ployer,  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  England ;  and  having  received  supplies  from 
him,  he  travelled  along  the  French  coast  to  Bayonne,  and 
from  thence  crossed  over  to  Marseilles ;  visiting  and  ob- 
serving every  thing  in  his  way,  which  had  any  reference  to 
military  or  naval  architecture. 


168  NOTES. 

"  At  Marseilles  he  embarked  for  Italy,  in  company  with  a 
rabble  of  pilgrims.  The  ship  was  forced  by  a  tempest  into 
the  harbor  of  Toulon,  and  afterwards  obliged  by  a  contrary 
wind  to  anchor  under  the  little  island  of  St.  Mary,  off  Nice, 
in  Savoy.  The  bigotry  of  the  pilgrims  made  them  ascribe 
their  ill-fortune  to  the  presence  of  a  heretic  on  board. 
They  devoutly  cursed  Smith  and  his  queen,  Elizabeth,  and 
in  a  fit  of  pious  rage  threw  him  into  the  sea.  He  swam  to 
the  island,  and  the  next  day  was  taken  on  board  a  ship  of 
St.  Malo  which  had  also  put  in  there  for  shelter.  The  mas- 
ter  of  the  ship,  who  was  well  known  to  his  noble  friend  the 
Earl  of  Ployer,  entertained  him  kindly,  and  carried  him  to 
Alexandria  in  Egypt ;  from  thence  he  coasted  the  Levant, 
and  on  his  return  had  the  high  satisfaction  of  an  engage- 
ment with  a  Venetian  ship,  which  they  took  and  rifled  of 
her  rich  cargo. 

"  Smith  was  set  on  shore  at  Antibes,  with  a  box  of  one 
thousand  chequins,  (about  two  thousand  dollars,)  by  the  help 
of  which  he  made  the  tour  of  Italy,  crossed  the  Adriatic, 
and  travelled  into  Stiria,  to  the  seat  of  Ferdinand,  archduke 
of  Austria.  Here  he  met  with  an  English  and  Irish  Jesuit, 
who  introduced  him  to  Lord  Eberspaught,  Baron  Kisel,  and 
other  officers  of  distinction ;  and  here  he  found  full  scope 
for  his  genius  ;  for  the  emperor  being  then  at  war  with  the 
Turks,  he  entered  into  his  army  as  a  volunteer. 

"  He  communicated  to  Eberspaught  a  method  of  convers- 
ing at  a  distance  by  signals  made  with  torches,  which  being 
alternately  shown  and  hidden  a  certain  number  of  times, 
designated  every  letter  of  the  alphabet. 


NOTES.  169 

"  He  had  soon  after  an  opportunity  of  making  the  experi- 
ment. Eberspaught,  being  besieged  by  the  Turks  in  the 
strong  town  of  Olimpack,  was  cut  off  from  all  intelligence 
and  hope  of  succor  from  his  friends.  Smith  proposed  his 
method  of  communication  to  Baron  Kisel,  who  approved  it, 
and  allowed  him  to  put  it  in  practice.  He  was  conveyed 
by  a  guard  to  a  hill  within  view  of  the  town,  and  sufficient- 
ly remote  from  the  Turkish  camp.  At  the  display  of  the 
signal,  Eberspaught  knew  and  answered  it ;  and  Smith  con- 
veyed to  him  this  intelligence:  t Thursday  night  I  will 
charge  on  the  east ;  at  the  alarm,  sally  thou.'  The  an- 
swer was,  '  I  will.' 

"  Just  before  the  attack,  by  Smith's  advice,  a  great  number 
of  false  fires  were  made  in  another  quarter,  which  divided 
the  attention  of  the  enemy,  and  gave  advantage  to  the  as- 
sailants ;  who  being  assisted  by  a  sally  from  the  town,  killed 
many  of  the  Turks,  drove  others  into  the  river,  and  threw 
succors  into  the  place,  which  obliged  the  enemy  next  day 
to  raise  the  siege.  This  well-conducted  exploit  produced  to 
our  young  adventurer  the  command  of  a  company,  consist- 
ing of  two  hundred  and  fifty  horsemen,  in  the  regiment  of 
Count  Meldrich,  a  nobleman  of  Transylvania. 

"  The  regiment  in  which  he  served,  being  engaged  in  seve- 
ral hazardous  enterprises,  Smith  was  foremost  in  all  dangers, 
and  distinguished  himself  by  his  ingenuity  and  by  his  valor : 
and  when  Meldrich  left  the  imperial  army  and  passed  into 
the  service  of  his  native  prince,  Smith  followed  him. 

"  At  the  siege  of  Regal,  the  Ottomans  derided  the  slow  ap- 
proaches of  the  Transylvanian  army,  and  sent  a  challenge, 

15 


170  NOTES. 

purporting  that  the  lord  Turbisha,  to  divert  the  ladies,  would 
fight  any  single  captain  of  the  Christian  troops. 

"  The  honor  of  accepting  this  challenge,  being  determined 
by  lot,  fell  on  Captain  Smith ;  who  meeting  his  antagonist  on 
horseback,  within  view  of  the  ladies  on  the  battlements,  at 
the  sound  of  music  began  the  encounter,  and  in  a  short  time 
killed  him,  and  bore  away  his  head  in  triumph  to  his  gene- 
ral, the  lord  Moyzes. 

"  The  death  of  the  chief  so  irritated  his  friend  Crualgo, 
that  he  sent  a  particular  challenge  to  the  conqueror,  who, 
meeting  him  with  the  same  ceremonies,  after  a  smart  com- 
bat,  took  off  his  head  also. 

"  Smith  then  in  his  turn  sent  a  message  into  the  town,  in- 
forming the  ladies,  that  if  they  wished  for  more  diversion, 
they  should  be  welcome  to  his  head,  in  case  their  third 
champion  could  take  it. 

"  The  challenge  was  accepted  by  Bonamalgro,  who  un- 
horsed Smith,  and  was  near  gaining  the  victory ;  but  re- 
mounting in  a  critical  moment  he  gave  the  Turk  a  stroke 
with  his  falchion,  which  brought  him  to  the  ground,  and 
his  head  was  added  to  the  number. 

"  For  these  singular  exploits  he  was  honored  with  a  mili- 
tary procession,  consisting  of  six  thousand  men,  three  led 
horses,  and  the  Turks'  heads  on  the  points  of  their  lances. 
With  this  ceremony  Smith  was  conducted  to  the  pavilion 
of  his  general,  who,  after  embracing  him,  presented  him 
with  a  horse  richly  furnished,  a  scymetar  and  belt  worth 
three  hundred  ducats,  and  a  commission  to  be  major  in  his 
regiment. 


NOTES.  171 

"  The  prince  of  Transylvania,  after  the  capture  of  the 
place,  made  him  a  present  of  his  picture  set  hi  gold,  and  a 
pension  of  three  hundred  ducats  per  annum ;  and  moreover 
granted  him  a  coat  of  arms,  bearing  three  Turks'  heads  hi 
a  shield. 

"  The  patent  was  admitted  and  received  in  the  college  of 
heralds  in  England,  by  Sir  Henry  Segar,  garter  king  at 
arms.  Smith  was  always  proud  of  this  distinguished  honor, 
and  these  arms  are  accordingly  blazoned  hi  the  frontispiece 
to  his  history,  with  this  motto,  *  Vincere  est  vivere.' 

"  After  this,  the  Transylvanian  army  was  defeated  by  a 
body  of  Turks  and  Tartars  near  Retention,  and  many  brave 
men  were  slain,  among  whom  were  nine  English  and  Scots 
officers,  who,  after  the  fashion  of  that  day,  had  entered  into 
this  service,  from  a  religious  zeal  to  drive  the  Turks  out  of 
Christendom. 

"  Smith  was  wounded  in  this  battle  and  lay  among  the  dead. 
His  habit  discovered  him  to  the  victors  as  a  person  of  con- 
sequence ;  they  used  him  well  till  his  wounds  were  healed, 
and  then  sold  him  to  the  Basha  Bogul,  who  sent  him  as  a 
present  to  his  mistress,  Tragabigzanda  at  Constantinople, 
accompanied  with  a  message,  as  full  of  vanity  as  void  of 
truth,  that  he  had  conquered  a  Bohemian  nobleman,  and 
presented  him  to  her  as  a  slave. 

"  The  present  proved  more  acceptable  to  the  lady  than  her 
lord  intended.  She  could  speak  Italian ;  and  Smith  in  that 
language  not  only  informed  her  of  his  country  and  quality, 
but  conversed  with  her  in  so  pleasing  a  manner  as  to  gain 
her  affections.  The  connection  proved  so  tender,  that  to 


172  NOTES. 

secure  him  for  herself,  and  to  prevent  his  being  ill-used,  she 
sent  him  to  her  brother,  the  bashaw  of  Nalbraitz,  in  the 
country  of  the  Cambrian  Tartars  on  the  borders  of  the  sea 
of  Azoph.  Her  pretence  was,  that  he  should  there  learn 
the  manners  and  language  as  well  as  religion  of  the  Tar- 
tars. 

"  By  the  terms  in  which  she  wrote  to  her  brother,  he  sus- 
pected her  design,  and  resolved  to  disappoint  her.  Within 
an  hour  after  Smith's  arrival  he  was  stripped,  his  head  and 
beard  were  shaven,  an  iron  collar  was  put  about  his  neck, 
he  was  clothed  with  a  coat  of  hair-cloth,  and  driven  to  labor 
among  the  Christian  slaves. 

"  He  had  now  no  hope  of  redemption,  but  from  the  love  of 
his  mistress,  who  was  at  a  great  distance,  and  not  likely  to 
be  informed  of  his  misfortunes.  The  hopeless  condition  of 
his  fellow  slaves  could  not  alleviate  his  despondency. 

"In  the  depth  of  his  distress  an  opportunity  presented  for 
an  escape,  which  to  a  person  of  less  courageous  and  adven- 
turous spirit  would  have  been  an  aggravation  of  misery. 
He  was  employed  in  threshing  at  a  grange  in  a  large  field, 
about  a  league  from  the  house  of  his  tyrant ;  who  in  his 
daily  visits  treated  him  with  abusive  language,  accompanied 
with  blows  and  kicks. 

"  This  was  more  than  Smith  could  bear ;  wherefore  watch- 
ing an  opportunity,  when  no  other  person  was  present,  he 
levelled  a  stroke  at  him  with  his  threshing  instrument,  which 
dispatched  him. 

"  Then  hiding  his  body  in  the  straw,  and  shutting  the  door, 
he  filled  a  bag  with  grain,  mounted  the  bashaw's  horse,  and 


NOTES.  173 

betaking  himself  to  the  desert,  wandered  for  two  or  three 
days,  ignorant  of  the  way,  and  so  fortunate  as  not  to  meet 
with  a  single  person,  who  might  give  information  of  his 
flight. 

"  At  length  he  came  to  a  post,  erected  in  a  cross  road,  by 
the  marks  on  which  he  found  the  way  to  Muscovy,  and  in 
sixteen  days  he  arrived  at  Exapolis,  on  the  river  Don; 
where  was  a  Russian  garrison,  the  commander  of  which, 
understanding  that  he  was  a  Christian,  received  him  cour- 
teously, took  off  his  iron  collar,  and  gave  him  letters  to  the 
other  governors  in  that  region. 

"  Thus  he  travelled  through  part  of  Russia  and  Poland,  till 
he  got  back  to  his  friends  in  Transylvania ;  receiving  pre- 
sents in  his  way  from  many  persons  of  distinction,  among 
whom  he  particularly  mentions  a  charitable  lady,  Callamata, 
being  always  proud  of  his  connection  with  that  sex,  and  fond 
of  acknowledging  their  favors.  At  Leipsic  he  met  with 
his  colonel,  Count  M eldrich,  and  Sigismund,  prince  of  Tran- 
sylvania, who  gave  him  one  thousand  five  hundred  ducats  to 
repair  his  losses. 

"  With  this  money  he  was  enabled  to  travel  through  Ger- 
many, France,  and  Spain,  and  having  visited  the  kingdom 
of  Morocco,  he  returned  by  sea  to  England  ;  having  in  his 
passage  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  another  naval  engage- 
ment. 

"  At  his  arrival  in  his  native  country,  he  had  a  thousand 
ducats  in  his  purse,  which,  with  the  interest  he  had  remain- 
ing in  England,  he  devoted  to  seek  adventures  and  make 
discoveries  in  North  America." 
15* 


174  NOTES. 

Reader,  if  thou  hast  perused  the  preceding  sketch  of  the 
life  of  Captain  Smith,  pause  one  moment,  and  reflect,  that 
all  that  is  here  recorded,  he  performed,  passed  through, 
and  suffered,  before  he  came  to  the  wild  shores  of  the  new 
world.  And  that  here  he  entered  upon  a  new  field  of  en- 
terprise, and  of  suffering,  and  of  daring,  not  less  remark- 
able than  the  scenes  which  had  already  given  such  won- 
derful interest  to  his  eventful  life.  Follow  him  to  the  wil- 
derness of  Virginia,  and  witness  the  toils  and  struggles  he 
went  through  to  plant  the  first  European  settlement  in  these 
states.  Behold  him  the  guardian  spirit  of  the  little  colony, 
in  repeated  instances  and  in  various  ways  protecting  it  by 
his  single  arm  from  utter  destruction.  When  the  colony 
was  sinking  under  famine,  the  energy  and  activity  of  Smith 
always  brought  them  food;  when  beset  by  the  subtle  and 
ferocious  tribes  around  them,  the  courage  and  skill  of  Smith 
never  failed  to  prove  a  safe  and  sufficient  shield  for  their 
protection.  When  traitors  among  them  sought  to  rob  and 
abandon  the  colony,  they  were  detected  by  his  penetration 
and  punished  by  his  power.  It  mattered  not  what  nominal 
rank  he  held  in  the  colony,  whether  vested  with  office,  or 
filling  only  the  humble  post  of  a  private  individual,  it  was  to 
him  that  all  eyes  were  turned  in  times  of  difficulty  and  dan- 
ger, and  it  was  his  name  alone  that  struck  terror  to  the 
hearts  of  the  hostile  savages. 

With  a  dozen  men  in  an  open  boat,  he  performs  a  voy- 
age of  a  thousand  miles,  surveying  the  shores  of  the  great 
Chesapeake  Bay  and  exploring  its  noble  tributary  streams, 
with  thousands  of  the  wild  sons  of  the  forest  ready  to  meet 


NOTES.  175 

him  at  every  turn.  When,  in  the  cabin  of  the  powerful 
chief  Opechancanough,  five  hundred  warriors,  armed  with 
bow  and  club,  surrounded  him  with  a  determination  to  seize 
him  and  put  him  to  death,  who  but  Captain  John  Smith  would 
have  extricated  himself  from  his  perilous  situation  ?  No- 
thing daunted,  he  seized  the  giant  chieftain  by  the  hair  of 
his  head  with  one  hand,  held  a  pistol  to  his  breast  with  the 
other,  and  led  him  out  trembling  among  his  people,  and 
made  them  throw  down  their  arms. 

In  short,  for  romantic  adventure,  "  hair-breadth  escapes," 
the  sublimity  of  courage,  high  and  honorable  feeling,  and 
true  worth  of  character,  the  history  of  the  world  may  be 
challenged  to  produce  a  parallel  to  Captain  John  Smith,  the 
founder  of  Virginia. 


NOTE  13 CANTO  THIRD,  SECT.  I. 

And  well  might  English  hearts  beat  high, 
When  first  they  breathed  thy  virgin  air  ; 
For  never  to  them  seem'd  sky  so  bright, 
Nor  ever  a  land  so  fair. 

"  Every  object  that  struck  their  senses,  as  they  sailed  up 
the  Chesapeake,  was  well  calculated  to  awaken  hope  in 
the  minds  of  the  adventurers.  They  were  almost  enclosed 
in  one  of  the  most  spacious  bays  in  the  world ;  whilst  the 
rich  verdure,  with  which  a  genial  and  early  spring  had  clad 
the  forest,  ascending  from  the  edge  of  the  shore  to  the  sum- 
mits of  the  hills,  presented  a  prospect  at  once  regular  and 
magnificent.  It  was  a  sort  of  vast  amphitheatre,  the  limits 


176  NOTES. 

of  which  were  the  horizon ;  and  when  to  the  real  beauty 
of  the  landscape,  be  added  the  ardent "  spirit  of  adventure, 
which  delights  in  the  marvellous,  and  kindles  and  dilates 
itself  by  the  enthusiasm  of  fancy ;  there  is  little  cause  for 
our  surprise  at  the  glowing  descriptions  of  the  first  settlers, 
who  represented  it  as  a  kind  of  earthly  paradise  or  elisium." 
— Burk's  History  of  Virginia. 

There  is  a  simplicity  and  an  occasional  richness  in  the 
original  descriptions  of  Captain  Smith,  which  cannot  fail  to 
be  relished  by  the  reader. 

"  There  is  but  one  entrance  by  sea  into  this  country,  and 
that  is  at  the  mouth  of  a  very  goodly  bay  eighteen  or  twen- 
ty miles  broad.  The  cape  at  the  south  is  Cape  Henry,  in 
honor  of  our  most  noble  prince.  The  land  white  hilly 
sands,  like  unto  the  Downes,  and  all  along  the  shores  great 
plentie  of  pines  and  firres. 

"  The  north  cape  is  called  Cape  Charles,  in  honor  of  the 
worthy  Duke  of  Yorke ;  the  isles  before  it,  Smith's  Isles, 
by  the  name  of  the  discoverer.  Within  is  a  country  that 
may  have  the  prerogative  over  the  most  pleasant  places 
knowne,  for  large  and  pleasant  navigable  rivers ;  heaven 
and  earth  never  agreed  better  to  frame  a  place  for  man's 
habitation.  Here  are  mountains,  hills,  plains,  valleys, 
rivers,  and  brookes,  all  running  most  pleasantly  into  a  faire 
bay,  compassed  but  for  the  mouth  with  fruitful  and  delight- 
some land. 

"  The  mountains  are  of  divers  natures ;  for  at  the  head  of 


NOTES.  177 

the  bay  the  rockes  are  of  a  composition  like  millstones. 
Some  of  marble,  &c.  And  many  pieces  like  christall,  we 
found,  as  throwne  downe  by  water  from  those  mountains. 
These  waters  wash  from  the  rockes  such  glistering  tinc- 
tures, that  the  ground  in  some  places  seemeth  as  guilded, 
where  both  the  rockes  and  the  earth  are  so  splendent  to  be- 
hold, that  better  judgements  than  ours  might  have  beene  per- 
suaded they  contained  more  than  probabilities.  The  vesture 
of  the  earth  in  most  places  doth  manifestly  prove  the  nature 
of  the  soyle  to  be  lusty  and  very  rich. 

"  The  country  is  not  mountainous,  nor  yet  low ;  but  such 
pleasant  plaines,  hils,  and  fertile  valleyes,  one  prettily  cross- 
ing another,  and  watered  so  conveniently  with  fresh  brooks 
and  springs,  no  less  commodious  and  delightsome.  By  the 
rivers  are  many  plaine  marishes.  Other  plaines  there  are 
few,  but  only  where  the  savages  inhabit ;  but  all  overgrowne 
with  trees  and  weeds,  being  a  plaine  wilderness  as  God  first 
made  it. 

"  The  windes  here  are  variable,  but  the  like  thunder  and 
lightning  to  purify  the  air,  I  have  seldome  either  scene  or 
heard  in  Europe." — Smith's  Virginia,  published  in  London, 
1629. 

In  the  same  work,  giving  an  account  of  an  earlier  voyage 
of  discovery  to  the  western  continent,  under  the  patronage 
of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  the  author  says,  "  The  second  of 
July  they  fell  with  the  coast  of  Florida  in  shoule  water, 
where  they  felt  a  most  delicate  sweete  smell.  They  found 
their  first  landing-place  very  sandy  and  low,  but  so  full  of 


178  NOTES. 

grapes,  that  the  very  surge  of  the  sea  sometimes  overflowed 
them ;  of  which  they  found  such  plenty  in  all  places,  both 
on  the  sand,  the  greene  soyle  and  hils,  as  in  the  plaines,  as 
well  on  every  little  shrub,  as  also  climbing  towards  the  tops 
of  high  cedars,  that  they  did  thinke  in  the  world  were  not 
the  like  abundance."  *  *  * 

"  Discharging  our  muskets,  such  a  flocke  of  cranes,  the 
most  white,  arose  by  us,  with  such  a  cry  as  if  an  army  of 
men  had  shouted  altogether." 

The  woods  contained  "  the  highest  and  reddest  cedars 
of  the  world,  bettering  them  of  the  Assores,  Indies  or  Li- 
banus;  pines,  cypress,  saxefras,  the  lentish  that  beareth 
mastick,  and  many  other  of  excellent  smell  and  quality." 

"  The  soyle  is  most  plentifull,  sweete,  wholesome,  and 
fruitfull  of  all  other  ;  there  are  about  fourteen  severall  sorts 
of  sweete  smelling  tymber  trees ;  such  oaks  as  we,  but  far 
greater  and  better." 


NOTE  14— CANTO  THIRD,  SECT.  III. 

And  pale  disease  began  to  spread, 
And  scowling  famine  rear'd  her  head. 
And  many  an  exile  droop'd  and  died 
Along  the  lonely  river  side. 
Where  wearily  he  went  to  roam 
And  weep  unseen  for  his  English  home. 

Though  the  colony  were  several  times  threatened  with 
famine  while  Captain  Smith  remained  with  them,  yet  the 
activity,  talents  and  vigorous  exertions  of  that  remarkable 


NOTES.  179 

man  never  failed  to  bring  them  a  timely  supply  of  provi- 
sions. 

But  after  Smith  was  compelled,  in  consequence  of  a 
wound  received  from  an  explosion  of  gunpowder,  to  return 
to  England,  the  sufferings  of  the  colony  were  almost  un- 
paralleled. The  following  sad  picture  of  the  extremities 
to  which  they  were  reduced,  is  given  by  one  of  the  writers 
in  Smith's  History  of  Virginia. 

"Of  five  hundred,  within  six  months  after  Captain 
Smith's  departure,  there  remained  not  past  sixtie  men,  wo- 
men, and  children,  most  miserable  and  poor  creatures ;  and 
those  were  preserved  for  the  most  part,  by  roots,  herbes, 
acorns,  walnuts,  berries,  now  and  then  a  little  fish.  They 
that  had  starch  in  these  extremities  made  no  small  use  of  it ; 
yea,  even  the  very  skins  of  our  horses.  Nay,  so  great  was 
our  famine,  that  a  savage  we  slew  and  buried,  the  poorer 
sort  took  him  up  again  and  eat  him,  and  so  did  divers  one 
another,  boyled  and  stewed  with  roots  and  herbes.  And  one 
among  the  rest  did  kill  his  wife,  powdered  her,  and  had 
eaten  part  of  her  before  it  was  knowne,  for  which  he  was 
executed,  as  hee  well  deserved.  Now  whether  she  was 
better  roasted,  boyled  or  carbonadoed,  I  know  not,  but  of 
such  a  dish  as  powdered  wife  I  never  heard  of.  This  was 
that  time,  which  still  to  this  day  we  called  the  starving 
time." 


180  NOTES. 

NOTE  15 CANTO  THIRD,  SECT.  VI. 

Sir  John  the  painted  idol  took 

And  bore  it  to  the  shore ; 

And  soon  a  suppliant  priest  came  down, 

Its  ransom  to  implore. 

"Being  six  or  seven  in  company,  he  went  downe  the 
river  to  Kecoughtan,  where  at  first  they  scorned  him  as  a 
famished  man,  and  would  in  derision  offer  him  a  handful  of 
corn,  a  peece  of  bread,  for  their  swords  and  muskets,  and 
such  like  proportions  also  for  their  apparel.  But  seeing  by 
trade  and  courtesie  there  was  nothing  to  be  had,  he  made 
bold  to  try  such  conclusions  as  necessitie  inforced,  though 
contrary  to  his  commission;  let  fly  his  muskets,  ran  his 
boat  on  shore,  whereat  they  all  fled  into  the  woods.  So, 
marching  towards  their  houses,  they  might  see  great  heapes 
of  come.  Much  adoe  he  had  to  restrain  his  hungry  soldiers 
from  present  taking  of  it,  expecting,  as  it  happened,  that  the 
savages  would  assault  them,  as  not  long  after  they  did  with 
a  most  hideous  noyse.  Sixtie  or  seventy  of  them,  some 
black,  some  red,  some  white,  some  party-coloured,  came  in 
a  square  order,  singing  and  dancing  out  of  the  woods, 
with  their  Okee  (which  was  an  idoll  made  of  skinnes, 
stuffed  with  moss,  all  painted,  and  hung  with  chains  and 
copper)  borne  before  them.  And  in  this  manner,  being 
well  armed  with  clubs,  targets,  bows  and  arrows,  they  char- 
ged  the  English,  that  so  kindly  received  them  with  their 
muskets  loaden  with  pistoll  shot,  that  downe  fell  their  god, 
and  divers  lay  sprauling  on  the  ground.  The  rest  fled  into 


NOTES.  181 

the  woods,  and  ere  long  sent  one  of  their  priests  to  offer 
peace,  and  redeeme  their  Okee.  Smith  told  them  if  only  six 
of  them  would  come  unarmed  and  load  his  boat,  he  would 
not  only  be  their  friend,  but  restore  them  their  Okee,  and 
give  them  beads,  copper,  and  hatchets  besides ;  which  on 
both  sides  was  to  their  contents  performed.  And  then  they 
brought  him  venison,  turkies,  wild-foule,  bread,  and  what 
they  had,  singing  and  dancing  in  signe  of  friendship  till  they 
departed." — Smith's  Virginia. 


NOTE  16— CANTO  THIRD,  SECT.  VIII. 
The  waiters  stood  watchful  to  do  his  command. 
"  When  he,  [Powhatan,]  dineth  or  suppeth,  one  of  his 
women,  before  and  after  meat,  bringeth  him  water  in  a 
wooden  platter  to  wash  his  hands.     Another  waiteth  with  a 
bunch  of  feathers  to  wipe  them  instead  of  a  towel,  and  the 
feathers,  when  he  hath  wiped,  are  dryed  againe." — Captain 
Smith. 

NOTE  17— CANTO  FOURTH,  SECT.  I. 

And  over,  and  over,  down  they  rott'd, 
And  plunged  beneath  the  wave. 

Burk  says  that  on  one  occasion  Captain  Smith,  "whilst  he 
walked  unattended  in  the  woods,  was  attacked  by  the  king 
of  Paspahey,  a  man  of  gigantic  stature ;"  and  Stith  adds, 
that  "  the  Indian,  by  mere  dint  of  strength,  forced  him  into 
the  water  with  intent  to  drown  him.  Long  they  struggled, 

16 


182  NOTES.  J 

till  the  President  (Smith)  got  such  hold  of  his  throat,  that 
he  almost  strangled  him." 

NOTE  18 — CANTO  FOURTH,  SECT.  VII. 

Temples  that  shield  from  vulgar  sight 
A  thousand  holy  things. 
Their  idols,  tombs,  and  images 
Of  great  and  ancient  kings. 

"  In  every  territory  of  a  werowance  is  a  temple  and 
priest;  two  or  three  or  more. 

"  Upon  the  top  of  certaine  red  sandy  hills  in  the  woods, 
there  are  three  great  houses  filled  with  images  of  their 
kings,  and  devils,  and  tombs  of  their  predecessors.  Those 
houses  are  near  sixty  foot  in  length,  built  arbor- wise,  after 
their  building.  This  place  they  count  so  holy  as  that  but 
the  priests  and  kings  dare  come  into  them ;  nor  the  sava- 
ges dare  not  go  up  the  river  in  boats  by  it,  but  they  solemn- 
ly cast  some  piece  of  copper,  white  beads,  or  pocones,  into 
the  river,  for  fear  their  Okee  should  be  offended  and  re- 
venged of  them." — Smith's  Virginia. 

NOTE  19 — CANTO  FOURTH,  SECT.  VII. 

When  lo !  the  solemn  man  comes  forth 
With  slow  and  measured  tread : 
A  crown  of  snakes  and  weasel  skins 
Is  borne  upon  his  head. 

"  Their  chief  priest  differed  from  the  rest  in  his  orna- 
ments, but  inferior  priests  could  hardly  be  knowne  from  the 
common  people,  but  that  they  had  not  so  many  holes  in 


NOTES.  183 

their  ears  to  hang  their  Jewells  at.  The  ornaments  of  the 
chief  priest  were  certaine  attires  for  his  head,  made  thus. 
They  took  a  dozen  or  sixteen  or  more  snakes'  skins,  and 
stuffed  them  with  mosse,  and  of  weazles  and  other  vermines' 
skins  a  good  many.  All  these  they  tie  by  their  tails,  so  as 
all  their  tails  meet  on  the  top  of  their  head  like  a  great  tas- 
sell.  Round  about  this  tassell  is  as  it  were  a  crowne  of 
feathers ;  the  skins  hang  round  about  his  head,  necke  and 
shoulders,  and  in  a  manner  cover  his  face.  The  faces  of  all 
their  priests  are  painted  as  ugly  as  they  can  devise  ;  in  their 
hands  they  had  every  one  his  rattle,  some  base,  some 
smaller."— Smith's  Virginia. 

NOTE  20— CANTO  FOT7RTH,  SECT.  VU. 

The  sacred  weed  is  in  his  hand, 

That  Okee's  favor  wins, 

Whose  grateful  odor  hath  the  power 

To  expiate  all  sins : 

He  hurls  it  forth  with  sinewy  arm 

Into  the  hottest  flame, 

And  thrice  aloud  in  solemn  tone 

Invokes  great  Okee's  name. 

"  They  have  also  another  superstition,  that  they  use  in 
storms,  when  the  waters  are  rough  in  the  rivers  and  on  the 
sea-coasts.  Their  conjurers  runne  to  the  water  sides,  or 
passing  in  their  boats,  after  many  hellish  outcries  and  invo- 
cations, they  cast  tobacco,  copper,  pocones,  or  such  trash 
into  the  water,  to  pacify  that  god,  whom  they  think  to  be 
very  angry  in  these  storms." — Smith's  Virginia. 


184  NOTES. 

NOTE  21 CANTO  FOURTH,  SECT.  VII. 

Around  and  round,  for  six  long  hours, 
TJiey  battle  with  the  air. 

"  The  manner  of  their  devotion  is  sometimes  to  make  a 
great  fire,  in  the  house  or  fields,  and  all  to  sing  and  dance 
about  it  with  rattels  and  shouts  together,  four  or  five  hours. 
Sometimes  they  set  a  man  in  the  midst,  and  about  him  they 
dance  and  sing,  he  all  the  while  clapping  his  hands,  as  if  he 
would  keepe  time ;  and  after  their  songs  and  dancings  end- 
ed, they  go  to  their  feasts." — Smith's  Virginia. 

NOTE  22— CANTO  FOURTH,  SECT.  XVII. 

Compassion  lit  its  gentle  fires 
In  the  breast  of  Powhatan  ; 
The  warrior  to  the  father  yields. 
The  monarch  to  the  man. 

After  Captain  Smith  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  Ope- 
chancanough,  he  was  led  in  triumph  through  several  of  the 
tribes  and  witnessed  many  of  the  strange  ceremonies  of  the 
Indians,  till  at  last  he  was  brought  to  the  residence  of  the 
Emperor  Powhatan.  The  scenes  which  occurred  there, 
are  described  as  follows,  by  John  Burk  in  his  History  of 
Virginia,  a  work  of  which  only  one  volume  was  completed, 
bringing  the  history  down  no  later  than  1624.  This  volume 
is  highly  valuable  as  far  as  it  goes,  and  exhibits  so  much 
ability  as  to  make  it  a  matter  of  much  regret  that  the  au- 
thor did  not  live  to  complete  his  work. 


NOTES.  185 

"  On  the  entrance  of  Smith,  Powhatan  was  dressed  in  a 
cloak  made  of  the  skins  of  the  racoon.  On  either  hand  of 
the  chief  sat  two  young  girls,  his  daughters.  His  counsel- 
lors, adorned  with  shells  and  feathers,  were  ranged  on 
each  side  of  the  house,  with  an  equal  number  of  women 
standing  behind  them.  On  Smith's  entrance,  the  attendants 
of  Powhatan  shouted.  The  queen  of  Appamattox  was  ap- 
pointed to  bring  him  water  to  wash,  whilst  another  dried  his 
hands  with  a  bunch  of  feathers. 

"  A  consultation  of  the  emperor  and  his  council  having 
taken  place,  it  was  adjudged  expedient  to  put  Smith  to 
death,  as  a  man  whose  superior  courage  and  genius  made 
him  peculiarly  dangerous  to  the  safety  of  the  Indians.  The 
decision  being  made  known  to  the  attendants  of  the  em- 
peror, preparations  immediately  commenced  for  carrying  it 
into  execution  by  means  as  simple  and  summary  as  the  na- 
ture of  the  trial. 

"  Two  large  stones  were  brought  in  and  placed  at  the 
feet  of  the  emperor ;  and  on  them  was  laid  the  head  of  the 
prisoner.  Next  a  large  club  was  brought  in,  with  which 
Powhatan,  for  whom  out  of  respect  was  reserved  the  honor, 
prepared  to  crush  the  head  of  his  captive.  The  assembly 
looked  on  with  sensations  of  awe,  probably  not  unmixed 
with  pity  for  the  fate  of  an  enemy  whose  bravery  had  com- 
manded their  admiration,  and  in  whose  misfortunes  their 
hatred  was  possibly  forgotten. 

"  The  fatal  club  was  uplifted ;  the  breasts  of  the  com- 
pany already,  by  anticipation,  felt  the  dreadful  crash,  which 
was  to  bereave  the  wretched  victim  of  life ;  when  the  young 

16* 


186  NOTES. 

and  beautiful  Pocahontas,  the  beloved  daughter  of  the  em- 
peror, with  a  shriek  of  terror  and  agony,  threw  herself  on 
the  body  of  Smith.  Her  hair  was  loose  and  her  eyes 
streaming  with  tears,  while  her  whole  manner  bespoke  the 
deep  distress  and  agony  of  her  bosom.  She  cast  a  be- 
seeching  look  at  her  furious  and  astonished  father,  depreca- 
ting his  wrath,  and  imploring  his  pity  and  the  life  of  his 
prisoner,  with  all  the  eloquence  of  mute,  but  impassioned 
sorrow. 

"  The  remainder  of  this  scene  is  honorable  to  the  char- 
acter of  Powhatan.  It  will  remain  a  lasting  monument, 
that,  though  different  principles  of  action  and  the  influence 
of  custom  have  given  to  the  manners  and  opinions  of  this 
people  an  appearance  neither  amiable  nor  virtuous,  they 
still  retain  the  noblest  property  of  the  human  character,  the 
touch  of  pity,  and  the  feeling  of  humanity. 

"  The  club  of  the  emperor  was  still  uplifted ;  but  pity 
had  touched  his  bosom,  and  his  eye  was  every  moment  losing 
its  fierceness.  He  looked  round  to  collect  his  fortitude,  or 
perhaps  to  find  an  excuse  for  his  weakness  in  the  faces  of 
his  attendants.  But  every  eye  was  suffused  with  the  sweet- 
ly contagious  softness.  The  generous  savage  no  longer 
hesitated.  The  compassion  of  the  rude  state  is  neither  os- 
tentatious nor  dilatory ;  nor  does  it  insult  its  object  by  the 
exaction  of  impossible  conditions.  Powhatan  lifted  his 
grateful  and  delighted  daughter,  and  the  captive,  scarcely 
yet  assured  of  safety,  from  the  earth." 


NOTES.  187 

NOTE  23— CANTO  FIFTH,  SECT.  XV. 

But  glancing  round  upon  his  men, 
Unbending  still  he  stood, 
Upright  in  native  dignity, 
Like  an  old  oak  of  the  wood. 

Powhatan  having  refused  to  go  to  Jamestown  to  receive 
the  royal  presents  which  Newport  had  brought  from  King 
James,  it  was  decided  that  Newport  and  Smith  should  go  to 
his  residence  with  a  file  of  men,  and  invest  him  with  the 
robe  of  state  and  crown  agreeably  to  King  James's  request. 
A  brief  account  of  the  ceremony  is  given  in  the  quaint  lan- 
guage of  Captain  Smith,  as  follows. 

"The  presents  were  sent  by  water,  and  the  captains 
went  by  land  with  fifty  good  shot.  All  being  met  at  We- 
rowocomoco,  the  next  day  was  appointed  for  his  coronation. 
Then  the  presents  were  brought  in,  his  bason  and  ewer, 
bed  and  furniture  set  up,  his  scarlet  cloak  and  apparell 
with  much  adoe  put  on  him,  being  perswaded  by  Namon- 
tack  they  would  not  hurt  him.  But  a  foule  trouble  there 
was  to  make  him  kneele  to  receive  his  crowne,  he  neither 
knowing  the  majesty  nor  meaning  of  a  crowne,  nor  bending 
of  the  knee,  endured  so  many  perswasions,  examples,  and 
instructions,  as  tyred  them  all.  At  last,  by  leaning  hard 
on  his  shoulders,  he  a  little  stooped,  and  three  having  the 
crowne  in  their  hands  put  it  on  his  head," 


188  NOTES. 

NOTE  24 CANTO  SIXTH,  SECT.  VII. 

And  still  with  sad  and  anxious  thought 
And  moveless  eyes  he  stood. 
Till  he  saw  her  by  another  Jlash 
Enter  the  midnight  wood. 

SKETCH   OF   THE   CHARACTER   OF  POCAHONTAS. 

"  The  character  of  this  interesting  woman,  as  it  stands 
in  the  concurrent  accounts  of  all  our  historians,  is  not,  it  is 
with  confidence  affirmed,  surpassed  by  any  in  the  whole 
range  of  history ;  and  for  those  qualities  more  especially, 
which  do  honor  to  our  nature — a  humane  and  feeling  heart, 
an  ardor  and  unshaken  constancy  in  her  attachments — she 
stands  almost  without  a  rival. 

"  At  the  first  appearance  of  the  Europeans,  her  young 
heart  was  impressed  with  admiration  of  the  persons  and 
manners  of  the  strangers.  But  it  is  not  during  their  pros- 
perity that  she  displays  her  attachment.  She  is  not  in- 
fluenced  by  awe  of  their  greatness,  or  fear  of  their  resent- 
ment, in  the  assistance  she  affords  them.  It  was  during 
their  severest  distresses,  when  their  most  celebrated  chief 
was  a  captive  in  their  hands,  and  was  dragged  through  the 
country,  as  a  spectacle  for  the  sport  and  derision  of  her 
people,  that  she  places  herself  between  them  and  destruc- 
tion. 

"  The  spectacle  of  Pocahontas  in  an  attitude  of  entreaty, 
with  her  hair  loose,  and  her  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  sup- 
plicating her  enraged  father  for  the  life  of  Captain  Smith, 


* 

NOTES.  189 

when  he  is  about  to  crush  the  head  of  his  prostrate  victim 
with  a  club,  is  a  situation  equal  to  the  genius  of  Raphael. 
And  when  the  royal  savage  directs  his  ferocious  glance  for 
a  moment  from  his  victim,  to  reprove  his  weeping  daugh- 
ter ;  when,  softened  by  her  distress,  his  eye  loses  its  fierce- 
ness, and  he  gives  his  captive  to  her  tears,  the  painter  will 
discover  a  new  occasion  for  exercising  his  talents. 

"  In  Pocahontas  we  have  to  admire,  not  the  softer  virtues 
only  ;  she  is  found,  when  the  interest  of  her  friends  demands 
it,  full  of  foresight  and  intrepidity. 

"  When  a  conspiracy  is  planned  for  the  extermination  of 
the  English,  she  eludes  the  jealous  vigilance  of  her  father, 
and  ventures  at  midnight,  through  a  thousand  perils,  to  ap- 
prise them  of  their  danger. 

"  But  in  no  situation  does  she  appear  to  more  advantage, 
than  when,  disgusted  with  the  cold  formalities  of  a  court  (in 
England)  and  the  impertinent  and  troublesome  curiosity  of 
the  people,  she  addressed  the  feeling  and  pathetic  remon- 
strance to  Captain  Smith  on  the  distant  coldness  of  his 
manner.  Briefly  she  stated  the  rise  and  progress  of  their 
friendship ;  modestly  she  pointed  out  the  services  she  had 
rendered  him ;  concluding  with  an  affecting  picture  of  her 
situation,  at  a  distance  from  her  country  and  family,  and 
surrounded  by  strangers  in  a  strange  land. 

"  Indeed  there  is  ground  for  apprehension  that  posterity, 
in  reading  this  part  of  American  history,  will  be  inclined 
to  consider  the  story  of  Pocahontas  as  an  interesting  ro- 
mance ;  perhaps  recalling  the  palpable  fictions  of  early  tra- 
vellers and  navigators,  they  may  suppose  that  in  those  times 


* 

190  NOTES. 

a  portion  of  fiction  was  deemed  essential  to  the  embellish- 
ment of  history.  It  is  not  even  improbable,  that  consider- 
ing every  thing  relating  to  Captain  Smith  and  Pocahontas  as 
a  mere  fiction,  they  may  vent  their  spleen  against  the  his- 
torian for  impairing  the  interest  of  his  plot  by  marrying  the 
princess  of  Powhatan  to  a  Mr.  Rolf,  of  whom  nothing  had 
previously  been  said,  in  defiance  of  all  the  expectations 
raised  by  the  foregoing  parts  of  the  fable. 

"  It  is  the  last  sad  office  of  history  to  record  the  fate  of 
this  incomparable  woman.  The  severe  muse,  which  pre- 
sides over  this  department,  cannot  plant  the  cypress  over 
her  grave,  and  consign  her  to  the  tomb,  with  the  stately 
pomp  and  graceful  tears  of  poetry.  She  cannot  with  pious 
sorrow  inurn  the  ashes  and  immortalize  the  virtues  of  the 
dead  by  the  soul-piercing  elegy,  which  fancy,  mysterious 
deity,  pours  out,  wild  and  plaintive,  her  hair  loose,  and  her 
white  bosom  throbbing  with  anguish.  Those  things  are 
placed  equally  beyond  her  reach  and  her  inclination.  But 
history  affects  not  to  conceal  her  sorrow  on  this  occasion. 

"  She  died  at  Gravesend,  (England,)  where  she  was  pre- 
paring to  embark  with  her  husband  and  son  on  her  return 
to  Virginia.  Her  death  was  a  happy  mixture  of  Indian 
fortitude  and  Christian  submission,  affecting  all  those  who 
saw  her,  by  the  lively  and  edifying  picture  of  piety  and  vir- 
tue which  marked  her  latter  moments." — BurVs  Virginia. 


NOTES.  191 

NOTE  25— CANTO  SIXTH,  SECT.  IX. 

And  now  this  land  is  ours  again  ; 
The  rest  of  the  pale-face  crew 
We'll  brush  away  from  our  forest  home, 
As  we  brush  the  drops  of  dew. 

"  The  savages  no  sooner  understood  Smith  was  gone,  but 
they  all  revolted,  and  did  spoil  and  murther  all  they  en- 
countered."— Smith's  Virginia. 


NOTE  26— CANTO  SEVENTH,  SECT.  m. 

We  ran  to  rescue,  but  in  vain  ; 
They  bore  her  from  the  shore, 
Away,  away,  and  much  I  fear 
Thou'lt  never  see  her  more. 

Whatever  account  Japazaws  may  have  given  of  the  cap- 
ture of  Metoka,  or  Pocahontas,  history  attributes  the  inci- 
dent altogether  to  his  own  treachery.  She  was  carried 
away  by  Captain  Argall,  who  was  up  the  Potomac  with  his 
vessel  for  the  purpose  of  trading  with  the  natives.  The 
following  account  is  copied  from  Burk. 

"  By  the  means  of  Japazaws,  king  of  Potomac,  he  dis- 
covered that  Pocahontas  was  concealed  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  he  immediately  conceived  the  design  of  getting 
her  into  his  power ;  concluding  that  the  possession  of  so 
valuable  an  hostage  would  operate  as  a  check  on  the  hostile 
dispositions  of  the  emperor,  and  might  perhaps  be  made  an 
instrument  of  peace  and  reconciliation.  The  integrity  of 


192  NOTES. 

Japazaws  was  not  proof  against  the  seducing  appearance 
of  a  copper  kettle,  which  was  fixed  as  the  price  of  his 
treachery;  and  this  amiable  maiden,  whose  soul  nature 
formed  on  one  of  her  kindest  and  noblest  models,  was  be- 
trayed by  her  perfidious  host  into  the  hands  of  a  people, 
whom  her  tender  and  compassionate  spirit  had  often  snatch- 
ed from  famine  and  the  sword. 

"  For  the  causes  of  this  princess's  absence  from  her  fa- 
ther, we  are  left  to  bare  conjecture.  Her  avowed  partiality 
for  the  English  had  probably  drawn  down  on  her  the  dis- 
pleasure of  this  high-spirited  monarch ;  and  she  had  retired 
to  avoid  the  effects  of  his  immediate  resentment." 


NOTE  27 CANTO  SEVENTH,  SECT.  VIII. 

Sir  John  had  led  him  by  the  hair 
With  pistol  at  his  breast ; 
The  rankling  thought  was  a  raging  fire, 
That  never  let  him  rest. 

"  The  president,  (Smith,)  some  time  after  this,  being  on  a 
visit  to  Pamunky,  an  attempt  was  made  by  Opechancanough 
to  seize  him ;  for  which  purpose  he  beset  the  place,  where 
they  had  met  to  trade,  with  seven  hundred  Indians,  well- 
armed,  of  his  own  tribe.  But  Smith,  seizing  him  by  the 
hair,  led  him  trembling  in  the  midst  of  his  people,  who  im- 
mediately laid  down  their  arms." — Burk's  Virginia. 


NOTES.  193 


NOTE  28 CANTO  SEVENTH,  SECT.  X. 

When  morning  came,  the  sun  lodk'd  dawn 
Where  many  a  cottage  stood, 
But  he  only  saw  black  smouldering  heapst 
And  fields  that  smoked  with  blood, 

The  great  massacre  of  the  Virginia  colony  by  the  In- 
dians in  1622,  is  thus  described  by  Burk. 

"  Whilst  the  colony  was  thus  rapidly  advancing  to  emi- 
nence and  wealth,  she  carried  in  her  bosom  and  about  her 
an  enemy  which  was  to  blight  her  budding  honors,  and 
which  brought  near  to  ruin  and  desolation  her  growing  es- 
tablishment. Since  the  marriage  of  Pocahontas,  the  na- 
tives had  lived  on  terms  of  uninterrupted  and  apparently 
cordial  amity  with  the  English,  which  daily  gained  strength 
by  mutual  wants  and  necessities.  Each  had  something  be- 
yond their  wants,  which  the  other  stood  in  need  of.  And 
commerce,  regulated  by  good  faith,  and  a  spirit  of  justice, 
gave  facility  to  the  exchange  or  barter  of  their  superfluous 
productions.  The  consequence  of  this  state  of  things  was, 
a  complete  security  on  the  part  of  the  English ;  a  total 
disregard  and  disuse  of  military  precautions  and  martial 
exercises.  The  time  and  the  hands  of  labor  were  con- 
sidered too  valuable  to  be  employed  in  an  idle  and  holiday 
array  of  arms;  and  in  this  situation,  wholly  intent  on 
amassing  wealth,  and  totally  unprovided  for  defence,  they 
were  attacked  by  an  enemy,  whose  resentment  no  time  nor 
good  offices  could  disarm ;  whose  preparations  were  silent 
as  night ;  to  whom  the  arts  of  native  cunning  had  given  a 

17 


194  NOTES. 

deep  dissimulation,  an  exterior  so  specious,  as  might  impose 
on  suspicion  itself. 

"  Opechancanough  (who  succeeded  Powhatan  in  the  gov- 
ernment) possessed  a  powerful  recommendation  in  the  eyes 
of  his  countrymen.  His  hatred  of  the  English  was  rooted 
and  deadly.  Never  for  a  moment  did  he  forget  the  unjust 
invasion  and  insolent  aggressions  of  those  strangers.  Never 
did  he  forget  his  own  personal  wrongs  and  humiliation. 

"  Compelled  by  the  inferiority  of  his  countrymen  in  the 
weapons  and  instruments  of  war,  as  by  their  customs,  to 
employ  stratagem  instead  of  force,  he  buried  deep  in  his 
bosom  all  traces  of  the  rage  with  which  he  was  agitated. 

"  To  the  English,  if  any  faith  was  due  to  appearances, 
his  deportment  was  uniformly  frank  and  unreserved.  He 
was  the  equitable  mediator  in  the  several  differences  which 
arose  between  them  and  his  countrymen. 

"  The  intellectual  superiority  of  the  white  men  was  the 
constant  theme  of  his  admiration.  He  appeared  to  consider 
them  as  the  peculiar  favorites  of  heaven,  against  whom  re- 
sistance were  at  once  impious  and  impracticable.  But  far 
different  was  his  language  and  deportment  in  the  presence 
of  his  countrymen. 

"  In  the  gloom  and  silence  of  the  dark  and  impenetrable 
forest,  or  the  inaccessible  swamp,  he  gave  utterance  to  the 
sorrows  and  indignation  of  his  swelling  bosom.  He  painted 
with  the  strength  and  brilliancy  of  savage  coloring  the  ty- 
ranny, rapacity,  and  cruelty  of  the  English;  while  he 
mournfully  contrasted  the  unalloyed  content  and  felicity  of 
their  former  lives,  with  their  present  abject  and  degraded 


NOTES.  195 

condition ;  subject  as  they  were  to  the  capricious  control 
and  intolerable  requisitions  of  those  hard  and  unpitying 
task-masters. 

"  Independence  is  the  first  blessing  of  the  savage  state. 
Without  it,  all  other  advantages  are  light  and  valueless. 
Bereft  of  this,  in  their  estimation  even  life  itself  is  a  barren 
and  comfortless  possession.  It  is  not  surprising  then,  that 
Opechancanough,  independent  of  his  influence  as  a  great  We- 
rowance  or  war  captain,  should,  on  such  a  subject,  discover 
kindred  feelings  in  the  breasts  of  his  countrymen.  The 
war-song  and  war-whoop,  breaking  like  thunder  from  the 
fierce  and  barbarous  multitudes,  mingling  with  the  clatter 
of  their  shields,  and  enforced  by  the  terrific  gestures  of  the 
war-dance,  proclaimed  to  their  leader  their  determination  to 
die  with  him  or  conquer. 

"  With  equal  address  the  experienced  and  wily  savage 
proceeded  to  allay  the  storm  which  invective  had  conjured 
up  in  the  breasts  of  the  Indians.  The  English,  although 
experience  had  proved  them  neither  immortal  nor  invinci- 
ble, he  represented  as  formidable  by  their  fire-arms,  and 
their  superior  knowledge  in  the  art  of  war ;  and  he  inculca- 
ted, as  the  sole  means  of  deliverance  and  revenge,  secrecy 
and  caution  until  an  occasion  should  offer,  when,  by  surprise 
or  ambush,  the  scattered  establishments  of  their  enemies 
might  at  the  same  moment  be  assaulted  and  swept  away. 

"  Four  years  had  nearly  elapsed  in  maturing  this  formi- 
dable conspiracy ;  during  which  time,  not  a  single  Indian 
belonging  to  the  thirty  nations,  which  composed  the  empire 
of  Powhatan,  was  found  to  violate  his  engagements,  or  be- 


196  NOTES. 

tray  his  leader.  Not  a  word  or  hint  was  heedlessly  or  de- 
liberately dropt  to  awaken  jealousy  or  excite  suspicion. 

"  Every  thing  being  at  length  ripe  for  execution,  the 
several  nations  of  Indians  were  secretly  drawn  together, 
and  stationed  at  the  several  points  of  attack,  with  a  celerity 
and  precision  unparalleled  in  history.  Although  some  of 
the  detachments  had  to  march  from  great  distances,  and 
through  a  continued  forest,  guided  only  by  the  stars  and  the 
dubious  light  of  the  moon,  no  instance  of  mistake  or  disor- 
der took  place.  The  Indian  mode  of  march  is  by  single 
files.  They  follow  one  after  another  in  profound  silence, 
treading  nearly  as  possible  in  the  steps  of  each  other,  and 
adjusting  the  long  grass  and  branches  which  they  have  dis- 
placed. This  is  done  to  conceal  all  traces  of  their  route 
from  their  enemies,  who  are  equally  sagacious  and  quick- 
sighted.  They  halted  at  a  short  distance  from  the  English, 
waiting  without  impatience  for  the  signal  which  was  to  be 
given  by  their  fellows,  who,  under  pretence  of  traffic,  had 
this  day  in  considerable  numbers  repaired  to  the  plantations 
of  the  colonists. 

"  So  perfect  was  the  cunning  and  dissimulation  of  Ope- 
chancanough,  that  on  the  morning  of  this  fatal  day,  the 
straggling  English  by  his  direction  were  conducted  in  safety 
through  the  woods  to  their  settlements,  and  presents  of  veni- 
son and  fowl  were  sent  in  his  name  to  the  governor  and 
counsellors,  accompanied  with  expressions  of  regard  and 
assurances  of  friendship.  '  Sooner,'  said  the  wily  chieftain, 
'  shall  the  sky  fall,  than  the  peace  shall  be  violated  on  my 
part.' 


NOTES.  197 

"  And  so  entirely  were  the  English  duped  by  these  pro- 
fessions and  appearances,  that  they  freely  lent  the  Indians 
their  boats,  with  which  they  announced  the  concert,  the 
signal  and  the  hour  of  attack  to  their  countrymen  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river. 

"  The  fatal  hour  having  at  length  arrived,  and  the  ne- 
cessary dispositions  having  every  where  taken  place ;  on  a 
signal  given,  at  mid  day,  innumerable  detachments  setting 
up  the  war-whoop,  burst  from  their  concealments  on  the 
defenceless  settlements  of  the  English,  massacreing  all  they 
met,  without  distinction  of  age  or  sex ;  and  according  to 
custom  mutilating  and  mangling  in  a  shocking  manner  the 
dead  bodies  of  their  enemies. 

"  So  unexpected  and  terrible  was  the  onset,  that  scarcely 
any  resistance  was  made.  The  English  fell  scarcely 
knowing  their  enemies,  and  in  many  instances  by  their  own 
weapons.  In  one  hour  three  hundred  and  forty-seven  men, 
women,  and  children,  including  six  of  the  council  and  seve- 
ral others  of  distinction,  fell  without  a  struggle,  by  the  hands 
of  the  Indians.  Chance  alone  saved  the  colony  from  utter 
extirpation. 

"  A  converted  Indian,  named  Chanco,  lived  with  Richard 
Pace,  loved  by  his  master  on  account  of  his  good  qualities, 
with  an  affection  at  once  Christian  and  parental.  The 
night  preceding  the  massacre,  the  brother  of  Chanco  slept 
with  him ;  and  after  a  strict  injunction  of  secrecy,  having 
revealed  to  him  the  intended  plot,  he  commanded  him,  in  the 
name  of  Opechancanough,  to  murder  his  master.  The 
grateful  Indian,  shocked  at  the  atrocity  of  the  proposal,  af- 
17* 


198  NOTES. 

ter  his  brother's  departure,  flew  to  Pace  and  disclosed  to 
him  the  information  he  had  received.  There  was  no  time 
to  be  lost.  Before  day  a  despatch  was  forwarded  to  the 
governor  at  Jamestown,  which  with  the  adjacent  settlements 
was  thus  preserved  from  the  ruin  that  hung  over  them. 


"  From  this  time  the  number  of  the  plantations  and  settle- 
ments, which  before  amounted  to  eighty,  was  reduced  to  six, 
and  their  strength  concentrated  by  order  of  the  governor 
about  Jamestown  and  the  neighborhood.  All  works  of 
public  utility,  as  well  as  the  exertions  of  private  industry, 
were  entirely  suspended ;  and  the  whole  attention  of  the 
colonists  was  bent  on  the  means  of  defence,  and  on  projects 
of  vengeance.  A  bloody  and  exterminating  war  ensued,  in 
which  treachery  and  cruelty  took  place  of  manly  courage 
and  generous  warfare.  The  laws  of  war,  and  that  hu- 
manity, which  in  the  moments  of  victory  give  quarter  to 
the  vanquished,  were  forgotten  amid  the  suggestions  of 
craving  and  insatiable  revenge.  But  the  opportunities  of 
retaliation,  owing  to  the  swiftness  of  the  natives,  were  not 
frequent  enough  to  appease  the  boiling  spirit  of  vengeance. 
The  Indian,  pressed  by  hunger,  or  stimulated  by  the  hope 
of  plunder  or  revenge,  would  on  a  sudden  burst  from  his 
concealment  on  his  enemy,  and  if  outnumbered  and  pursued, 
he  vanished  amid  the  eternal  midnight  of  his  forests. 
Whole  days  he  lies  on  his  belly  in  breathless  silence,  his 
color  not  distinguishable  from  the  earth  on  which  he  lies, 
and  every  faculty  wound  up  to  attention.  He  watches  the 


NOTES.  199 

moment  when  he  can  strike  with  certainty,  and  his  aim  is 
as  fatal  and  unerring  as  destiny. 

"  At  last  the  Indians  were  invited  from  their  fastnesses 
by  the  hopes  of  peace  and  the  solemn  assurances  of  safety 
and  forgiveness.  That  inhuman  maxim  of  the  Roman 
Church,  '  that  no  faith  is  to  be  kept  with  heretics,'  appears 
to  have  been  adopted  by  the  colonists  in  its  fullest  force. 

"  The  habitations  of  the  unfortunate  people  were  beset  at 
the  same  moment;  and  an  indiscriminate  slaughter  took 
place,  without  regard  to  age,  sex,  or  infancy.  The  horrid 
scene  terminated  by  setting  fire  to  the  huts  and  corn  of  the 
savages." 


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